#and she’s already been out to her family a long time

[lostfracturess]

REMEMBER ME IN SUMMER — SATORU GOJO

pairing — one night stand!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary — six months ago, you left satoru gojo's apartment before sunrise, thinking you'd never see him again. now, trapped in a beach house for a weekend with mutual friends, you're forced to face the man who doesn't seem to remember that night—or does he? between shared walls, heated touches, and games of pretend, you're starting to think maybe one night wasn't enough after all. but in a house full of friends, some things are better left in the past… right?

word count — 9.5 k

genre/tags — beach house AU, summer romance, one night stand to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, tension, awkward reunions, friends gathering, miscommunication, beach vibes, satoru is a little menace in this one

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, all characters aged up (mid 20s), language

author's note — hi everyone ! this fic came out of nowhere, and i literally wrote it in three days, but i really love the idea and the summer vibes in this one, even tho i wrote it while it was literally snowing outside, but somewhere on earth it's summer rn, so why not post it lol. hope you enjoy this mess of a summer romance story as much as i enjoyed writing it ! <3 (credit/art)

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The last person you expected to see in Okinawa was Satoru Gojo.

Yet there he was, lounging on the deck of the beach house like he belonged there, white hair catching the sunlight as he laughed at something someone had said. Your heart tumbled over itself as memories of that night six months ago flooded back unbidden.

"You okay?" Maki nudged you with her elbow. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

More like the ghost of past bad decisions. "I'm fine," you managed, gripping your weekend bag tighter. "Wasn't expecting so many people."

The beach house was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway with close friends. But somewhere between planning and execution, it had turned into a "friends of friends" situation to fill the eight-bedroom house Okkotsu's family had offered.

"Yeah, Yuta's cousin's boyfriend invited some people to fill the space," Maki explained, completely unaware of your internal crisis. "That's Satoru over there, by the way. He's actually pretty fun once you get past the whole—" She gestured vaguely at all of him.

You wanted to laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. Because you were already very familiar with how "fun" Satoru Gojo could be.

Six months ago, you'd met him at a bar in Tokyo. He'd been charming and gorgeous, all easy smiles and playful banter. One drink had turned into several, flirting had turned into kissing, and kissing had turned into...

Well.

You'd slipped out of his apartment before dawn, leaving nothing but a lipstick stain on his collar and a dip in his pillow. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. You weren't looking for anything serious, and someone like him definitely wasn't the settling down type.

Now, watching him chat lively with your friends like the universe's cruelest joke, you wondered if you should have at least left your number.

"Girl," Maki waved her hand in front of your face. "You sure you're okay?"

Before you could answer, Satoru looked up. His eyes met yours across the deck, and for a moment, your heart stopped. 

But there was no recognition in those sea blue eyes. No hint that he remembered the way you'd gasped his name in the dark, the way his hands had traced every inch of your skin, the way he'd whispered "stay" against your shoulder just before you'd fallen asleep.

He just smiled politely, the same smile he’s probably giving everyone else too, and went back to his conversation.

Right. Of course he didn't remember. You were probably just one in a long line of one-night stands for someone like him. The thought shouldn't hurt as much as it did.

"Come on," Maki said, tugging you towards the house. "Let's get settled in before the others arrive.”

Up close, the beach house was even more impressive. A sprawling three-story mansion of white stone and floor-to-ceiling windows that caught the afternoon light like rippling water, a wraparound veranda with a cozy sitting area led to a private path down to the beach, lined with swaying palms and colourful flowers.

Inside, the house opened into a huge room with soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that made the space feel endless. Ocean views followed you everywhere through the massive windows, and the whole place smelled of salt and lemon.

"The bedrooms are upstairs," Maki said as she led you up a floating staircase. "Most of them are on the second floor, but there are two master bedrooms on the third."

The universe, it seemed, had a twisted sense of humor. Not only did you have to spend the weekend pretending you didn’t know how Satoru's brows draw together when he'd cum, but your room ended up right next to his—the two largest bedrooms on the top floor, sharing a wall and a connecting balcony. Of course.

Your room was bigger than your entire apartment in Tokyo, with a king-size bed draped in soft white linens. One wall was entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the ocean, while the other walls were decorated with pictures and minimalist art.

"My god, the view’s amazing!" Maki gushed and threw open the balcony doors. The sound of waves immediately filled the room, along with fresh, salty ocean air. "You can see the whole beach from here." 

But you were too busy staring at the wall next to you, where a door that must lead to Satoru's room was hidden behind a cupboard. You could hear muffled movement from his room, the sound of his laugh drifting through the wall that suddenly felt far too thin and your mind helpfully supplied memories of other sounds he could make, and you wondered if it was too late to fake some sudden illness and go home.

"Yeah," you said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Amazing."

Maki flopped down beside you, bouncing slightly on the plush mattress. "I know I've been here like five times already with Yuta, but it never gets old." She rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin on her hands. "Usually it's just us and his family, maybe a few cousins. This is the first time we're doing a friend group thing."

You tried to focus on her words instead of the sound of suitcases being wheeled into the room next door. "How long have you and Yuta been coming here?"

"Since we started dating three years ago. His family does this whole summer tradition thing." She smiled. "First time I came, I was so nervous I barely left the room. Now it feels like a second home." She sat up, crossing her legs. “And since his parents said we could use it this weekend, we thought why not invite friends.”

Through the wall, you could hear male voices chatting and laughing, followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Probably the balcony doors. Your shared balcony. Where he could walk past your windows at any time.

“You’re okay with this, right? Yuta’s friends are actually really fun once you get to know them. Especially Satoru, even tho he can be a pain in the ass.” Your stupid heart tumbled over itself once more at his name. "And single, if you're interested. I could—"

"No!" The word came out louder than intended, and you heard the conversation next door pause briefly. Lowering your voice, you added, "I mean, no thanks. Not really looking for anything right now."

Maki gave you a strange look. "You sure you're okay? You've been weird since we got here."

"Just tired from the drive," you lied and stood up. "Maybe I'll take a quick shower before everyone else arrives."

"Okay..." She didn't sound convinced but got up anyway. "I should go find Yuta anyway, make sure he's not letting Satoru destroy any of Yuta's mum's favourite vases."

You waited until she left before falling with your face first onto the bed with a groan. Perfect. Not only did you have to spend the weekend next door to your one night stand who might or might not remember you, but now your best friend was trying to set you up with him.

Through the wall, you heard Satoru laugh at something, the sound familiar enough to make your chest ache. 

It was going to be a very long weekend.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 

You'd barely finished unpacking when Yuji burst into your room without knocking. "Hey! We're setting up a net for beach volleyball. You in?"

"Ah, I don't really—"

"Everyone's playing!" He was already on his way back to the door. "Even Megumi, and you know how he is about fun."

Before you could form a proper excuse, Maki appeared behind him. "Come on, it'll be fun, the sun is out and it’s better than hiding up here all afternoon."

And that's how you found yourself trudging down to the beach, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Totally fine. Just a fun game of volleyball with friends. Nothing to worry about.

But then the boys started stripping off their shirts. It was like watching some ridiculous scene out of Top Gun as they all shed their shirt in the afternoon heat. But it was Satoru who made your brain go silent completely. 

He pulled his shirt off, and suddenly you were having vivid flashbacks to exactly how that toned chest felt under your hands. The sun caught his hair like a halo, and when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his back shifted in ways that should not make your knees so weak, but here you were, rooted to the spot, your pulse racing as if it had a mind of its own.

"You're staring," Maki whispered next to you.

"I'm not," you said, even though you definitely were. How could you not? It was like someone had taken every beach volleyball scene from every summer movie ever and combined them into one ridiculous moment.

Teams were forming, and with an uneven number, you volunteered to sit this round out. Not that you were particularly eager to participate in the first place. You were perfectly happy watching from the safety of your beach towel, where the risk of accidentally brushing against Satoru's unnecessarily perfect body was thankfully minimized.

The game started, and it quickly became clear that everyone was taking it way too seriously, as Satoru and Yuji seemed to be in some sort of competition to see who could spike the ball more impressively. 

"Show off," you muttered to yourself as Satoru delivered a rather dramatic jump serve, the ball landing dangerously close to your foot. But he must have heard you, because he caught your eye with a wink that made your stomach flutter. "Like what you see?"

"I've seen better," you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile spread across his face. "Have you now?"

Oh god. Were you flirting? This was definitely flirting. You needed to stop staring at the way sweat was making his skin glisten and focus on... literally anything else.

"Pay attention!" Nobara yelled, and Satoru barely managed to dodge the ball she'd spiked directly at his head.

The game continued, growing more competitive with each round. You had to admit, it was entertaining watching your friends become more and more dramatic with each point. One of Yuta’s cousins and Yuji had some sort of rivalry going on, while Maki and Nobara were trash-talking each other.

But it was Satoru who kept drawing your attention. The way he moved was almost unfair and you found yourself following the drops of sweat as they made their way down his neck, remembering how that skin had tasted under your tongue.

"Incoming!"

You looked up just in time to see the volleyball heading straight for your face. Before you could react, Satoru dove in front of you and caught the ball just inches from your nose. The movement sent him sprawling across your legs, his face entirely too close to yours.

You blinked at him for a few moments, then whispered, "Thank you.” But the words came out too soft, almost like they had that night in Tokyo when he'd helped you into a taxi and then convinced you not to take it and instead come home with him.

Time seemed to slow, the crashing waves and voices of the others fading into white noise as Satoru's eyes met yours. For a moment, something flickered in those blue depths—a flash of recognition, perhaps even remembrance. 

His breath caught, barely noticeable, and his hand on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You watched his eyes, saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to your lips, and suddenly you were back in that Tokyo bar, both of you caught in that same magnetic pull.

"You're welcome," he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it. There was something in his tone, a hint of question, like he was trying to place a hazy dream. His thumb brushed against your skin, possibly by accident, possibly not, sending shivers up your spine.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, thick with shared memories—memories you weren't even sure he had. Then someone yelled "Dinner!" from the direction of the house, and the spell broke.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The sun was setting by the time everyone had showered and gathered around the huge dining table on the deck. Fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sound of the waves could be heard in the background as the chaos of fifteen people trying to organize a meal unfolded.

You'd taken extra care getting ready, telling yourself it was just because of the salt and sand, not because of the way Satoru had looked at you on the beach. You'd chosen a light summer dress that happened to be the exact shade of blue as his eyes—pure coincidence, of course—and had let your hair dry naturally in the sea breeze.

Yuta ended up ordering way too much from the local seafood restaurant, you concluded as you surveyed the spread of food on the table. 

You ended up squeezed between Maki and Megumi, which should have been a relief. Instead, you found yourself very aware of Satoru sitting directly across from you, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing a loose white linen shirt that he should really button up and stop teasing the entire table with glimpses of his toned chest.

"Pass the crab?" he asked, and when you handed him the plate, your fingers brushed. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you could have sworn you saw his breath catch. But then he was turning to laugh at something Yuji said, and you were left wondering if you'd imagined the whole thing.

"—and then he just fell face first right into the sand!" Yuji was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. "You should have seen it!"

"We were all there, literally two hours ago," Megumi deadpanned.

"The game was rigged anyway," Nobara said, reaching for another plate of grilled shrimp. "You can't put Mr. Perfect over here on a team and expect it to be fair." She jerked her thumb in Satoru's direction.

"What can you do?" Satoru said, his eyebrows knitted together, but a grin played on his lips. "I just happen to be naturally gifted." And then his eyes caught yours once more across the table. 

Heat crept up the back of your neck as you remembered how he'd felt when he'd sprawled across your legs, his skin sun warm and slightly sandy. How his touch had lingered just a fraction too long to be casual. 

Something had changed in his expression, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But you'd spent hours that night memorizing his faces. His smirk when he had you right on the edge, his soft smile when you were trembling beneath him, the way his eyes darkened just before he—

Maki snorted. "Yeah, sure." And you looked over at her, breaking the eye contact before you could do something stupid like climb across the table and find out if he tasted as good as you remembered.

When the dinner was over, Nobara suggested to play drinking games, truth or dare to be specific, to which "What are we, fifteen?" Megumi commented but Maki already chimed in with "Never ever I ever" and so it was decided.

Your stomach dropped. The last thing you needed was a drinking game where people confessed their secrets. Especially with the way Satoru kept looking at you, like he was one memory away from connecting dots you really didn't want connected.

"I think I'll pass," you said, pushing your plate away. "The sun really did take it out of me."

You gathered your plates and the sound of the others setting up their drinking game followed you into the kitchen—Yuji's voice carrying over everyone else's as he argued about rules, Nobara shouting something about "no questions about exes," and Megumi's long drawn out sighs.

A salty ocean breeze swept into the kitchen through the open wall of windows overlooking the water as you rinsed your plate. "You know," a voice came from behind you, making you jump, "I was starting to think you hate me."

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn't need to turn around to know it was Satoru—would recognize that voice anywhere, had spent months trying to forget how it sounded when it was rough after he’d cum. But you turned anyway, finding him leaning against the doorframe and the kitchen suddenly felt so much smaller. 

"What?" The word came out embarrassingly breathless.

"Let me rephrase, for someone who doesn't hate me, you're doing an impressive job of avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you.” You turned back to the sink. "I'm doing dishes."

"Sure. The dishes." His voice got closer, and you could feel the heat of him just behind you. "Though I have to wonder why someone would work so hard to avoid someone they've never met before."

Your hands stilled under the running water. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've barely looked at me all day." He was close enough now that you could smell his perfume that had lingered on your clothes for days after that night. "Want to tell me what I did to deserve the cold shoulder? Because usually, I at least remember if I've pissed someone off."

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it, but at the same time the irony of his words made you want to laugh. "You haven't done anything," you said, which was technically true. He hadn't done anything wrong. Except maybe be too good in bed and then forget about it entirely.

"No?" His voice dropped lower, and you could feel his breath on your neck. "Then why—" He cut himself off. "Wait. Have we met before?"

You spun around, hands dripping water onto the floor. The motion brought you chest to chest with him, trapped between his body and the counter. "No," you said, too quickly, way too quickly. "Definitely not."

"You sure about that? Because you seem familiar—"

"Must just have one of those faces."

He moved closer still, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, effectively caging you in. "Is that so? Because I’m sure I’d remember a pretty one like yours." You felt your breath catch in your throat, every nerve in your body screaming. He was going to kiss you, wasn't he? You should probably do something. Like move. Or breathe.

But then he simply stepped back, his smile widening. "Sorry. Must have mistaken you for someone else,” he said and the loss of his warmth felt like whiplash, leaving you cold despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air. You watched him retreat towards the door, casual as anything, like he hadn't just turned your world sideways.

Through the open door, laughter spilled in from the deck, breaking the spell that had held you captive. Satoru paused in the doorway for a moment, silhouetted against the warm light from outside, before disappearing back into the noise of your friends.

You stayed at the sink, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the summer air and ignoring the way your heart refused to settle in your chest. What had just happened? You had no idea. But one thing was painfully certain.

This weekend was going to be a long one.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Next morning, you decided to get up early and have your coffee on the beach before anyone else was awake. Sleep had been hard to come by anyway, with too many thoughts of certain one night stands keeping your mind racing. 

Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold watercolours and the ocean stretched out before you, quiet and calm, each small wave catching the early light like diamonds.

You'd wrapped yourself in an oversized cardigan against the morning chill, bare feet buried in sand that was still cool from the night before. And of course, because the universe hated you, that's when Satoru appeared.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, settling into the sand beside you without invitation.

You clutched your coffee mug tighter. "Something like that."

"Yeah, me neither." He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and you definitely didn't notice how his shorts rode up slightly, definitely weren't thinking about how those thighs had felt under your hands. "Keep having these weird dreams."

"Oh?"

"Mmm." As he turned to look at you, the rising sun painted his profile gold, catching his eyelashes. There was something different about him in this light — softer somehow, more like the man who'd asked you to stay than the one who'd cornered you in the kitchen last night. "About a girl in a black dress. Red lipstick. The most amazing laugh I've ever heard."

Your heart stopped.

"Funny thing is," he continued casually, "I can never quite see her face in the dreams. But I remember how she tasted. How she felt pinned beneath me. How she clenching around my fingers. How she said my name when she—"

"Stop," you whispered.

"Why?" His voice was softer now. "Because you don't want to talk about that night? Or because you thought I wouldn't remember?"

You stared at the ocean, unable to meet his gaze. "You didn't seem to yesterday."

"Don’t be stupid. I recognized you the moment you walked into the beach house."

Your coffee nearly slipped from your hands. "What?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't remember the girl who stole my favourite shirt on her way out the door?"

Heat flooded your cheeks, you totally forgotten about the shirt. "Then yesterday, in the kitchen—"

"I wanted to see how long you'd keep pretending." He smiled, the bastard had the audacity to smile at you when he revealed that he was playing you the whole time. "You're cute when you're nervous, you know that?”

"You're mocking me."

"Mocking you?" His eyebrows rose. Then he leaned closer to you, but you still refused to look at him. "I spent six months trying to find the girl with the kind of laugh that makes you feel drunk just hearing it, who left before I could ask for her number—" 

"It was just one night," you interrupted.

"Was it? Because I distinctly remember asking you to stay."

"I couldn't."

"Couldn't? Or wouldn't?"

You finally met his gaze fully, and immediately wished you hadn't. Because he was looking at you the same way he had that night. He was enjoying this, wasn't he? Playing with you, teasing you, making you feel like a flustered schoolgirl. 

"Does it matter?" you asked.

"You're really a bit slow, aren't you?"

You wanted to protest, to tell him exactly what you thought of his arrogant everything, but then Maki's voice carried across the beach, "Breakfast! Come and get it before Yuji eats everything!"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The breakfast table was just as chaotic as the dinner the night before. Fifteen people crammed around the table had that effect, especially with Yuji already piling his plate high with pancakes while Nobara complained about him taking too many. 

You'd barely settled into an empty chair when Satoru slid into the seat next to you, as if he hadn't just admitted that he'd been playing jokes on you the whole day before. 

"Can you pass me the syrup?" he asked innocently, but there was nothing innocent about the way his thigh pressed against yours under the table. 

You handed him the bottle without looking at him, trying to focus on pouring your coffee without spilling it everywhere. Which was made all the more difficult when his hand found your knee under the table.

"So what's everyone's plans for today?" Maki asked, passing around a plate of fresh fruit.

You tried to concentrate on the conversation, you really did. But Satoru's hand was inching higher up your thigh, and your brain was shorted out. You kicked him under the table, aiming for his shin.

He didn't even flinch, just smiled wider and continued whatever conversation he was having with Megumi about later activities, all while his fingers danced along the hem of your shorts. You felt a sudden surge of heat, definitely not from the summer sun.

"You okay?" Nobara asked suddenly. "You look a bit flushed."

"Fine!" Your voice came out higher than intended as Satoru's fingers skimmed just slightly under the edge of your shorts. "Just... hot."

"It is pretty warm this morning," Satoru agreed, his tone perfectly pleasant even as his thumb pressed into that sensitive spot on your inner thigh that he somehow remembered. The bastard. You kicked him again, harder this time.

"Did someone just kick the table?" Maki looked around suspiciously.

"Must have been the wind," you said stupidly.

You grabbed his wrist under the table, intending to push his hand away, but he just interlaced his fingers with yours and kept them there on your thigh. It was like he was asserting dominance, staking his claim, and you were suddenly trapped.

"Hey, are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked through a mouthful of pancakes. "You're acting weird."

"Totally fine," you managed. "Just didn't sleep well."

"Hmm, me neither," Satoru chimed in, his voice all false innocence. "Must be all these weird dreams I keep having." You dug your nails into his hand in warning, but he just squeezed your hand in response, his grip tightening.

"Dreams?" Nobara asked.

"Oh, you know," Satoru began thoughtfully, "the kind that keep you up all night, thinking about... things that got away."

You were going to murder him. Slowly. Possibly with the butter knife you were currently gripping way too tight.

"That's... weirdly poetic for you," Maki said, raising an eyebrow.

"You wouldn't want to know,” he replied, and you felt his fingers inch just slightly higher once more, making you jump and bang your knee on the table.

"Jesus, what is wrong with you two this morning?" Nobara asked, looking between you and Satoru.

Under the table, you finally managed to grab his hand in yours and hold it still. But that backfired when he started playing with your fingers instead, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that made you gasp. You definitely wanted to kill him. Right after you figured out how to breathe normally again.

"So, beach day? I wanna go snorkelling," Yuji said, thankfully drawing attention away from whatever was going on under the table, and everyone agreed. JJust then, Satoru freed his hand from yours and placed it back on your knee before trailing it up your thigh. 

Okay, nope this had to end now.

"I need more coffee," you announced abruptly, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the deck.

"I'll help," Satoru offered, already rising.

"No!" The word came out too sharp, making everyone look at you strangely. "I mean, I'm good. Thanks."

You practically fled into the kitchen, your skin still tingling where he'd touched you. Through the window, you could see him chatting with the others, looking completely unaffected while you were here trying to remember how to make your heart beat normally.

When is this weekend going to end?

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

"You sure you're okay?" Maki asked, swimming up beside you. "You've been weird all morning. Is the sun too much?"

"I'm fine," you said for what felt like the hundredth time today. "I’m not used to be around so many people."

The water was crystal clear, stretching out in various shades of blue that seemed to go on forever. Everyone had eagerly jumped into snorkeling, with Yuji and Nobara already in a heated competition about who could spot the most fish.

You adjusted your mask for the tenth time, trying to focus on anything except how good Satoru looked in just swim shorts. He was a few meters away, the sunlight catching the droplets of water that clung to his ridiculously toned shoulders.

My God. You needed distance. You needed space to breathe, to think, to do anything other than stare at him.

"If you say so." Maki didn't look convinced. "But tell me if something’s bothering you, okay?"

If only she knew. "Sure."

"Guys, come look at this!" Yuji called from where he was floating near some corals. "Rainbow fish!" 

Everyone swam over to where he was pointing, and you had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Countless colourful fish swam through the coral, creating a vibrant palette under the water.

You followed the fish as a sudden pressure against your calf made you flinch. Satoru. He had brushed against your leg. It could have been an accident, a mere consequence of the crowded water, but somehow, it felt like anything but. You knew better. Nothing about Satoru was ever accidental.

You drifted slightly away from the group, desperately needing to put some distance between yourself and Satoru. The vibrant corals blurred into streaks of colour as you swam further from the group, the shouts of Yuji and Nobara fading.

The water a bit away from them was deeper, a darker shade of blue. As you peered down, you noticed the sandy ground was dotted with small stones, and a different kind of life seemed to thrive here. Sea anemones swayed gently in the current, and schools of silver fish, smaller than the ones near the reef, darted in and out of the anemones.

You floated on your back for a moment, gazing up at the sky, a vast expanse of pale blue flecked with fluffy white clouds as the sun warmed your face. It was so peaceful, and you were happy for the small pause amidst the chaos of the house.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

You startled at Satoru's voice right behind you, nearly inhaling water through your snorkel. He'd somehow managed to swim up without you noticing, and now he was close enough that his arm brushed yours in the water.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, pulling your snorkel out.

"I know a better spot.” He nodded towards a more secluded area around the curve of the beach. "If you're interested."

You glanced back at the others, but they were all absorbed in whatever Yuji had found. "I don't think—"

"Come on," he said, already swimming away. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not even a little bit." But found yourself following him anyway.

He led you around a small outcropping of rocks, the current tugging gently at your fins, to a quieter part of the reef. His hand on your arm gently guided you through the water. The water here was somehow even clearer, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking underwater scenery with colourful coral formations that created a labyrinth of archways and caverns with small fish swimming in between.

"How did you—"

"I came here earlier this morning," he said, treading water close to you. "While you were pretending to ignore me after breakfast."

"I wasn't—" You cut yourself off as he dove under the surface, the sunlight playing across his back as he swam deeper.

You followed him down, your breath taken away by the sight. This part of the reef was like something out of a documentary. Swarms of tropical fish swirled around you in ribbons of colour, and the coral itself seemed to shine in the filtered sunlight.

When you surfaced, Satoru was watching you with an annoyingly knowing smile. "Worth following me?"

"It's alright," you said, trying to sound unimpressed even though you were anything but.

He laughed. "You're still trying to play hard to get?"

"I'm not playing anything."

"No?" He swam closer, close enough that you could see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. "Then why did you follow me here?"

"To see the fish.”

"The fish." His voice was amused. "Sure. That's why you've been watching me all morning?"

"I have not—"

"You know," he cut you off, moving even closer, his body brushing against yours in the water. "You're pretty when you get all flustered. Just like that night in Tokyo. Same flush you had when I made you cum three times.”

Ha? Had he been keeping count or what? You frantically tried to replay that night in your head — there was the first time against his apartment door, then on the kitchen counter, and... oh god, he was right. The bastard had been counting. The smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

You splashed water at him. "We are not talking about Tokyo."

He wiped water from his face, grinning. "No? Should we talk about this morning instead? About how you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your—"

You dunked him mid-sentence.

He came up spluttering, pushing wet hair from his eyes. "Okay, I probably deserved that."

"You definitely deserved that."

But he laughed, and despite yourself, you found yourself laughing too. There was something infectious about him, something that made it hard to keep your walls up, dissolving your defenses with unnerving ease, like mist beneath the morning sun.

"We should head back," you said finally. "Before they come looking for us."

"Probably," he agreed, but made no move to leave. Instead, he floated closer, until his chest pressed against yours. "Or we could stay here a bit longer. I could remind you of all the other ways I can make you wet."

Heat flooded your body. "Satoru..."

"Yes?" His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him. One thigh slipped between yours, and you had to bite back a gasp at the friction. "You know, I still remember exactly how you sound when you're trying not to moan my name."

"We can't." But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers skimmed along your ribs, dangerously close to your breast.

"Can't?" His lips ghosted over your lips, his thumb tracing circles on your hip under the water in a way that made you think of how those fingers had felt inside you. "Or are you afraid you won't be able to keep quiet this time?"

Before you could answer, Nobara's voice carried across the water. "Where did you guys go?"

You pushed away from him quickly, already swimming back towards the group. "Coming!"

"This isn't over," he called after you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"It never started!" you shot back, but you were smiling too.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Satoru spent the rest of the afternoon driving you absolutely insane.

After snorkeling, he'd positioned his beach towel suspiciously close to yours, spending an unnecessary amount of time applying sunscreen to his chest and arms. His movements were deliberately slow, borderline pornographic, fingers sliding over muscle in a way that had you remembering exactly how those muscles had felt flexing under your tongue. 

You knew without a doubt he was putting on a show for you—every movement a reminder of how those arms had looked braced above you as he'd fucked you against his apartment door, how they'd felt pinning your wrists to his sheets.

During lunch, he'd somehow ended up next to you again, his bare thigh pressed hot against yours under the table like this morning had taught him nothing. Except this time, his hand didn't just rest on your knee. It spent the entire meal tracing patterns up your thigh, fingertips dancing dangerous close to where you'd been aching for him.

Your breath caught every time his hand "accidentally" slipped under the hem of your shorts, remembering how those fingers had curled inside you, how they'd made you beg.

The afternoon beach volleyball rematch was even worse. He kept finding excuses to touch you—steadying you with a hand on your waist when you stumbled in the sand (the same way he'd gripped your hips while taking you from behind), reaching around you to grab the ball (his breath hot on your neck like when he'd whispered how good you felt around him), his chest pressing against your back, closer than needed (making you remember how it felt to be pressed between him and that apartment door).

But dinner? Dinner was pure torture.

He'd shown up freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled in that way that made your fingers itch to grab it (like you had when he was between your thighs), wearing a dark blue linen shirt that he hadn't bothered to button properly once more and spent the entire meal finding new ways to make you squirm.

He'd catch your eye across the table and slowly lick sauce off his thumb, making you remember exactly how that tongue had felt when he'd spread you open. When passing dishes, his fingers would brush against yours unnecessarily long, making you shiver. At one point, he'd stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his lower abs that had you gripping your fork so hard your knuckles turned white.

He knew exactly what he was doing, too—you could tell by the smug look on his face throughout the whole dinner. 

Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, completely oblivious to the way he was systematically dismantling your sanity with nothing more than glances and touches.

Every time you thought you'd gotten yourself under control, he'd do something else — run his fingers through his hair the same way he had when you'd been on your knees in front of him, or bite his lip in a way that had you crossing your legs under the table. By dessert, you were a mess of sexual frustration and murderous impulses. 

He was enjoying this, the bastard. Testing your control, seeing how far he could push before you broke. And the most infuriating part? 

It was working. 

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

After dinner, everyone wandered into the living room in various states of food induced laziness. You'd barely managed to claim a corner of the big couch when Nobara disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an armful of wine bottles and a certain look in her eye that spelled trouble.

"No one move," she announced, setting the bottles on the coffee table. "I have an idea."

"Your ideas usually end with someone crying," Megumi commented from his spot on the floor.

"Or arrested," Maki added helpfully.

"Or both," you muttered, trying to ignore how Satoru had somehow appeared in the armchair closest to your corner of the couch. He'd rolled up his sleeves during dinner, forearms on full display, and you were having a hard time not staring at his fingers. Fingers that you knew from experience felt so good in your mouth to keep you from—

"Never have I ever!" Nobara's voice cut through your dangerous train of thought. A collective groan rose from the group.

"Not again," Megumi said, already trying to get up.

"Sit your ass down," Nobara commanded, pushing him back down. "We're bonding."

"We bonded plenty last night," you Yuta tried, but Nobara was having none of it and before you knew it, everyone agreed.

"Okay, I'll start easy," Yuji said, clearly excited despite his earlier protests. "Never have I ever cheated on a test."

Several people drank, including Satoru—and you, okay let’s be real. 

The questions started innocent enough. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever been arrested. Never have I ever dyed my hair. But as the wine flowed, the questions got progressively more suggestive.

"Never have I ever kissed someone of the same gender," Maki said, and half the circle drank. "Never have I ever faked it," was Nobara's contribution, and several people groaned but drank.

You were starting to feel a bit hazy, the wine making everything feel warm and soft around the edges. Which was dangerous, because Satoru kept looking at you like he was remembering exactly how you'd sounded that night when you definitely hadn't been faking anything.

"Never have I ever," one of Yuta’s cousins announced then, "had sex with someone in this room." For a moment, no one moved. Then Yuta and Maki drank, of course. And then Satoru raised his own glass slowly and took a long sip.

"Who?" Nobara shrieked, looking around the circle. "Satoru just drank, so someone else here has to—" Her gaze swept over everyone suspiciously.

"Someone's lying," Maki sang, already tipsy enough to find this hilarious. "Come on, fess up!"

You kept your face carefully neutral, even as you felt Satoru's eyes burning into you. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Not this time.

"Maybe it was before any of us knew each other," Yuji suggested, but Nobara shook her head.

"No way. Look at his face!" She pointed accusingly at Satoru. "He's got that look. You know, that 'I know something you don't know' look."

Satoru just smiled lazily from his armchair, swirling the wine in his glass. "Maybe I just like keeping you all guessing."

"You're a dumbass," Nobara said, but the group's attention was already shifting as Yuji launched into the next question, something about falling asleep at work.

You released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, but made the mistake of glancing at Satoru and he gave you a look that sent a shiver of heat through you over his wine glass. 

God, you were going to murder him. Slowly. Painfully. Preferably with the very wine glass he was currently smirking into. 

Who did he think he was, just casually drinking like that, nearly exposing everything? He could have at least warned you, given you some sign he was about to blow up your secret. But no, he'd just taken that deliberate sip, probably getting hard on watching you squirm as you tried to keep your poker face. 

That sick bastard.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Sleep was impossible. You'd been tossing and turning for hours, replaying the day's events in your mind—from that moment in the ocean to his deliberate almost-reveal during the game. The walls of this fancy beach house seemed paper thin at night, every small sound amplified in the darkness.

That's how you heard his door open around 2 AM, followed by quiet footsteps heading downstairs.

You waited a few minutes, telling yourself you were just thirsty, that going downstairs for water had nothing to do with knowing he was maybe down there. The wooden steps creaked softly under your bare feet as you made your way down.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the massive windows, creating silver patterns on the marble countertops of the kitchen. Satoru stood at the island, drinking water from a glass, looking unfairly handsome in just sleep shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.

"Couldn't sleep?" he whispered when he spotted you.

"What's your game, Satoru?" You kept your voice equally low, padding closer. "That thing earlier? During never have I ever?"

"Game? I'm not the one who was afraid of drinking".

"Because unlike you, I don't feel the need to announce our business to everyone."

He set his glass down, turning to face you fully. "Our business? So you admit there's something to announce?"

"That's not—" You caught yourself before your voice could rise. "What are you trying to achieve here? With all the—" you gestured vaguely, "touching and teasing and almost exposing everything?"

He stepped closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt way too small, even though it was like three times the size of your Tokyo apartment. "Maybe I just want everyone to know that night wasn't as casual for me as you seem to think it was."

You felt the weight of his words settle in the quiet kitchen, heavy with meaning you weren't prepared to unpack while moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look softer, almost vulnerable.

"What are you talking about? It was only one night."

"Was it?" He moved closer, until you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. "Because I remember asking you to stay. I remember waking up to an empty bed and spent the next six months thinking about why you left."

"I... you were just saying that in the moment. People say lots of things in the moment."

"Do they?" His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face. "Is that why you ran? Because you thought I didn't mean it?"

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your skin prickled where he'd touched you. "Satoru..."

"You know what I think?" His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. "I think you're scared. Not of me, but of the fact that you wanted to stay too."

"That's not—" But the words died in your throat as his thumb traced your jawline.

"Then why are you down here?" He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. "If it was just one night, just something casual, why did you follow me down here in the middle of the night?"

The counter pressed against your back—when had you started backing up?—and Satoru's arms came to rest on either side of you, caging you in. Position achingly familiar, reminding you of how this all started six months ago.

"I was thirsty," you said. You did not even believe yourself as you said it.

His laugh was barely a breath against your skin. "Liar."

And then his mouth was on yours, and god, you'd forgotten how good he was at this. His lips were soft but demanding, one hand sliding into your hair while the other gripped your hip, forcing you close against him. You gasped into the kiss, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue against yours in a way that made you forget your own name.

It was different from that first night—less urgent, but somehow more intense. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was laying claim to every moment you'd denied him these past six months. His teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite back a whimper, too aware of the sleeping house above.

"Still want to pretend this is nothing?" he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his smile when your only response was to pull him back down for another kiss.

His hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing your throat just the way you like it, just the way he somehow remembered.

"Someone could come down," you breathed, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.

"Then I guess you'll have to be quiet." His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. "Think you can manage that? Because I distinctly remember you being quite vocal last time."

You tightened your grip on his hair in return, but that just made him groan softly against your throat. "You're stupid."

"Mm, that's not what you said in Tokyo." His hands slid higher under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. "In fact, I remember you saying some very different things—"

You cut him off with another kiss, partly to shut him up and partly because you needed his mouth on yours like you needed air. His fingers teased along your ribs, your back, your thighs, touching you everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to.

But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers inside you, making you cum all over his fingers in seconds—just like that night in Tokyo.

You were done, dizzy, breathless, clinging to him as he stripped your shorts and underwear down your legs. He pushed one leg up your chest as he lowered you back down onto the marble kitchen counter, your other leg still wrapped around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours as he thrust inside, hard, slow, perfect angle—just like that night in Tokyo.

He tossed you around, manhandled you, fucked you against the fridge, threw you onto the couch and fucked you there too. He whispered your name, his voice husky against your ear, every letter a caress, even as he picked up pace, even as his hand closed around your throat, even as you bit into the pillow below to muffle your screams as he made you cum again. Multiple times. In various positions. Using his own cum as a lube for the next round—just like that night in Tokyo.

Afterwards you laid outside on the veranda in a big chair you both shared, gazing up at the stars scattered across the deep velvet sky, countless and impossibly bright. A second later his lips found yours and another second later you were on top of him, underwear pushed to the side and your head thrown back as he watched you chase your release on his dick—just like that night in Tokyo.

And his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he ate you out on the stairs just before you wanted to go back to bed, but he wouldn't let you, making you cum again before he carried you off to the laundry room to fuck you one last time for sure good mesure—just like that night in Tokyo.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

Morning came way too early, sunlight streaming through windows you'd forgotten to close. Every muscle in your body ached in the most pleasant way, reminding you of exactly how many surfaces you and Satoru had christened last night. 

Yeah. You were definitely going to be feeling this for days. You winced slightly as you sat up — apparently kitchen counters weren't the most ergonomic choice for certain activities, or the stairs, or the laundry room, or... Okay, we get it.

When you finally made it downstairs, moving perhaps a bit more strangely than usual, Satoru was already at the breakfast table. Because of course he was, looking absolutely perfect and fullyfull rested in a fresh shirt, casually sipping his coffee like he hadn't spent half the night making you bite down on your fist to keep quiet.

"Well, someone looks rough," Nobara commented as you lowered yourself carefully into a chair. "Too much wine last night?"

You caught Satoru hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. The bastard didn't even have the decency to look tired.

"Something like that," you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and trying not to wince at the stretch. Your thighs burned in protest of the movement, and you could swear you saw Satoru's smile widening at your slight grimace.

"Must have been some wine," Nobara said, eyeing you suspiciously. "I don't remember you drinking that much during the game."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Yuji asked, looking concerned. "You're walking kind of funny."

"I'm fine, really," you managed. "Too much wine, that’s all."

Maki, who sat next to you, leaned in closer. "Your 'too much wine' is showing," she whispered, pointing to your collarbone. Your hand flew to your neck, suddenly remembering all the attention Satoru had paid to that area—especially that moment on the stairs when you'd begged him to finish what he'd started before anyone heard them, while he sucked a very dark bruise right above your collarbone.

You quickly buttoned up your cotton shirt higher, but from Nobara's growing grin, it was too late. But thankfully, no one commented on it.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟  

The rest of Sunday passed in a lazy haze, with everyone moving a bit slower thanks to varying degrees of wine headaches. Most of the day was spent sprawled out on beach chairs, hiding behind sunglasses and drinking coconut water that Yuta swore would help with hangovers (but, in fact, did not).

You dozed on and off under an umbrella, trying not to think about how your body still ached in several places from the night before, and enjoyed your last day in Okinawa before you'd return to work on Monday.

When evening rolled around and it was time to pack up, the house became a chaos of suitcases and forgotten phone chargers once more. You were struggling with your bag next to your car, trying to figure out the best angle to lift it into the trunk without stressing your still sore muscles, when Satoru suddenly appeared and took it from your hands without a word.

"I can manage," you protested, but he was already lifting it into your trunk with an effortless ease that really shouldn't be as attractive as it was.

"I'm sure you can," he said, closing your trunk with a soft thud. "But maybe I just want an excuse to do this." 

Before you could ask what 'this' was, he pressed a small folded piece of paper into your palm. You opened it to find a phone number written in his surprisingly neat handwriting.

"Since you didn't stay for it last time," he said softly.

"What makes you think I'll use it?"

"Because this time, you want to stay just as much as I want you to." He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. "Besides, I believe we still have a few surfaces in my apartment left to explore."

You shoved his shoulder. "Stop." 

He caught your hand before you could push him again. "Use it. Please?" His voice held a note of softness, an unexpected tenderness that made your heart ache with a strange longing. You nodded, tucking the paper safely into your back pocket.

"Still not announcing anything to everyone tho," you warned as Maki called out that they were ready to leave.

"Yet," he said with an eye roll. Then, before you could react, he pulled you in for one last kiss. It was slower, deeper this time, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, as if he was afraid he might forget the feel of your lips.

"Someone could see us," you whispered against his lips, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.

"I don't care," he murmured, one hand sliding down to your waist to draw you closer. "Let them see." He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. "Besides, they'll find out soon enough when I take you to this little ramen place in Shibuya I've been wanting to show you."

You pulled back slightly. "Oh? Someone's confident about getting a second date."

"Third, technically," he said. "If we're counting Tokyo. And that thing against the washing machine last night."

"Those don't count.”

"Then I guess I'll have to make the next one special. Maybe dinner first. Then I can show you my apartment. Properly this time, not just the entrance hall and kitchen counter."

"Is that your way of asking me out?"

"That's my way of saying I'm not letting you disappear for six months again." He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. "Use my number this time, yeah?"

"Satoru!" Yuji's voice carried across the driveway. "Stop making out and help me with these bags!"

Satoru laughed against your lips, stealing one more kiss before reluctantly pulling away. "Think about it. The ramen place. My apartment. All the surfaces we haven't used yet."

"Go help Yuji," you said, pushing him away even as you smiled. "Before he comes over here."

"Call me," he said, walking backwards with that stupidly handsome smile. "Or I'll just have to show up at your office. Make a big scene. Maybe bring flowers. Really embarrass you in front of all your coworkers."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me!" He finally turned then to help with the bags, leaving you to shake your head, your lips still tingling from his kisses.

The drive home felt different somehow. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your pocket, fingers brushing over the folded paper with his number, making sure it was still there as the familiar roads back to Tokyo stretched ahead.

The beach house grew smaller in your rearview mirror until it disappeared completely, taking with it the memories of lazy afternoons under the summer sun and heated nights. But other things lingered—the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way he'd looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.

Maybe you'd call him tomorrow. Or maybe you'd wait a day or two, just to prove you could. But knowing you, you'd likely message him the moment you set foot in your apartment.

A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled onto the highway, the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of rose and  lavender. Whatever happened next, one thing was for sure — this weekend had changed everything.

And maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing.

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author's note — and that's a wrap on our beach house summer story ! thank you so much for reading :)) & thank you again to @/nanamis-baker for beta reading !!

for anyone wondering, yes, she kept the shirt. and yes, he definitely noticed when she wore it to their first proper date to that ramen spot in shibuya.

if you enjoyed this fic, please feel free to leave a comment or reblog. it means so much !! until next time. stay thirsty hydrated, my friends <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here.

tags — @fayuki @starmapz @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna @cocomanga

@nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @sugurbo @chiyokoemilia @janbannan

@bloopsstuff @snowsilver2000 @ihearttoru @momoewn @yokosandesu

@90s-belladonna @fairygardenprincesss

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[thesquidgame]

Calm Before the Storm

Hwang Jun-ho x wife!reader

Summary: After your husband's disappearance, he starts to act different.

Warning: Angst, disappearance, gunshot wound, head injury, hospitals, mention of death, marital conflict, mention of divorce, guns

6k words

The worst day of your life happened after one of your husband’s work trips. He said that his team had gotten a lead on what might have happened to his brother and that he had to investigate. That was par for the course, every couple months there would be another potential lead on where your brother-in-law could be, but every couple months Jun-ho would be sorely disappointed. 

This time was different. He said he would be gone for a couple of days, and that he didn’t know if he would be able to get in contact. He left for one day, and then two, then more. His department panicked, apparently, it wasn’t a work trip and one of their detectives went missing. After a week his picture was on the nightly news, and after 10 days you were doing interviews begging for anyone who had any information to step forward. His mother came to sleep at your apartment, and she said she just wanted to help out with her daughter-in-law, but you could hear her sobs in the middle of the night through the thin walls between your bedroom and the guest room. 

At 5 AM, a week after Jun-ho’s disappearance, you got a call. They had found him. He was in a specialized emergency hospital on the outskirts of Seoul, and he was in a coma. You rushed to your car with your mother-in-law and broke speed limits that Jun-ho would never let you break when he was in the car with you. 

The hospital parking lot was nearly empty. The lobby was quiet when you walked in, and the front desk woman almost looked shocked when she saw two women with deep circles under their eyes and hair sticking in every direction. Honestly, you couldn’t care less. She was the receptionist at a hospital, if that was the craziest thing she’d seen she was in for a rude awakening when an actual patient came up to her desk.

She quickly directed you to his hotel room, on the 3rd floor, where his supervisor was already waiting. Time seemed to slow down as you rode the elevator. It couldn’t have taken longer than 20 seconds, but it felt like years. What if he was dying? What if he didn’t wake up? What if he was getting worse? Your thoughts kept racing, and you and Jun-ho’s mother couldn’t share a single word between the two of you between all of the panic going on inside your heads.

The floor was so quiet you could hear the squeak of a nurse’s shoes down the hallway. You should’ve run to your husband's bedside, but you couldn’t. You took one step at a time, terrified of what might await you. His supervisor stepped out the door and closed it. He looked at you with tired eyes. “Mrs. Hwang, Mrs. Park, I’m glad you could make it.”

“How’s my husband?” Formalities could wait. Formalities could go to hell.

He sighed, and your heart skipped several beats. “How is he?!” Jun-ho’s mother yelled. 

“He’s okay, he seems to be mostly stable, but I-” He raised his hand and scratched the back of his head, looking away at the ground, “I gotta be honest. He’s not great. He was shot and fell from a high distance into water. He passed out in the water and the doctors think he breathed in water and fell unconscious. They’re not sure of the extent of brain damage because he hasn’t woken up, but the lack of oxygen to his brain likely caused some sort of impact. There’s more, but they would only tell me the basics because I’m not family.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and he wasn’t the same? Memories of the last night you spent together raced through your head. It had been a long exhausting day, and he somehow knew how terrible it had been. He brought takeout home and made an extra stop to get your favorite dessert from a bakery. He set the food down on the kitchen table and immediately made his way to you on the couch, leaned down, and kissed you until you needed to come up for air. You turned off the tv and sat on the couch for hours, eating and talking and eventually fucking. Right before you went to bed he told you that he was going on the trip tomorrow, and you just smiled and nodded, thinking it was going to be like all the other times.

You pushed past the sergeant and walked into your husband’s room. His bed was separated from an empty one by a curtain. You couldn’t feel your own feet as you walked towards it, and it almost felt like your hand wasn’t moving at all when you pushed past the curtain.

Jun-ho looked like death. There was a tube shoved in his throat and his skin was so pale it looked translucent, the blue of his veins showing through on his arm next to an IV. The circles under his eyes were deep and dark, and he was in a neck brace, with his head bandaged. 

It felt like all the air had been sucked out of your lungs. The second his mother saw him, she collapsed at his side and laid her body over his legs. Her cries were guttural and came from something that must’ve broken inside of her. “My baby, my baby. I lost one son, I’ll die if I lose another.”

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t cry. You sunk to a chair at his side and reached out for his hand. He was so cold. His skin felt like he had just been taken out of the ocean minutes before, and his heart rate was so slow it felt like it was second between beats.

You didn’t hear the doctor come into the room until he spoke. Jun-ho’s mother looked up and stared at him like he was an angel, but you couldn’t look away from your husband’s unmoving body.

“Mrs. Hwang, can I talk to you about your husband’s condition?” You didn’t move, his mother had to beg the doctor to continue speaking. “He was shot in his left shoulder, luckily the bullet didn’t hit any vital organs, but because of the time between the injury and his arrival at the hospital, he lost a significant amount of blood. We think he hit the water head-first, and the impact caused his neck to break, luckily, there was no spinal cord damage. We induced him into a coma once he reached the hospital, so unfortunately we aren’t able to tell the extent of the damage unless he wakes.”

Your mother and law stood up “Unless? What do you mean by unless?!” she screamed. “My son is not going to die, do you hear me?!” 

You felt broken, Jun-ho had to wake up, he had to. You didn’t care if he couldn’t walk, or speak, but he had to wake up.

You could hear fists banging against the doctor’s chest, but you didn’t turn around. Just kept staring at your husband’s pale face, and pale hands.

The hospital had apparently received a large grant during COVID to expand, and when the pandemic had died down they became designated only for acute emergency cases and recovery care, and many rooms were kept vacant. The staff let you stay in the other bed in his room, and there was a shower attached to the room, designed for patients in long-term recovery and their family members. The hospital had a small cafeteria that made shockingly delicious Korean food, and they delivered the meals to the room three times a day. Before long, you became used to the tired routine of late-night check-ups and tired smiles from the nurses urging you to go home and rest. You were terrified that if you left the hospital Jun-ho would die before you could get back, but you couldn’t tell the nurses that. You just told the nurses that your house was far away and it was more convenient to stay at the hospital as opposed to making the commute or getting a hotel room.

It was three weeks before Jun-ho moved. In that time, you hadn’t left the hospital once. He squeezed your hand while you were holding it, and at first, you thought you imagined it. You called the doctor, and she said she would keep an eye on it, but not to get your hopes up- apparently twitching was normal in coma patients. Several hours later you felt the squeeze again, and when you looked up, you saw Jun-ho’s eyes open the slightest bit. 

It was like a month’s worth of fear and pain cascaded over in a heartbeat, and you collapsed on his chest in broken sobs, staring up at your husband. His mother was there, and she leaned over at him, pleading his name. He stared at you for as long as he could, until his eyes closed again, his eyelids twitching like he wanted them to stay open. Once his eyes closed your hand was still holding his in a tight grip, and you reached open to press the button again.

In the next couple of days, he went in and out of consciousness at increasing intervals. The first moment where you felt like you could breathe again came a week after he first squeezed your hand, when you awoke from sleeping laying on his lap while you sat in the chair to the sound of gagging. You heard his heartbeat increase and saw his throat convulse and his eyes flash open as he fought his breathing tube. 

You immediately pressed the call button for the nurse, and when they took too long you went out into the hallway and screamed for a nurse. There were only a couple of patients on his hall, and they could go screw themselves if they thought their sleep was more important than your husband's choking. The nurse and doctor came running and closed the door on you. Within a couple of minutes the nurse opened the door, and let you step inside. The doctor tried to talk to you, but you couldn’t hear anything she was saying as you walked past her toward your husband’s side.

“Baby,” Jun-ho whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken, and you could feel tears streaming down your face.

“Honey, you’re- you’re here.” You cried more and more, and he painfully reached his arm up to you.

“It’s okay (y/n), I was never going anywhere, I’m here.” You tucked your head into his neck and sobbed into his hospital gown. 

He stroked your hair slowly until his hand rested on the back of your head. You looked up to see that he had fallen back asleep, exhausted from the ordeal of choking on his breathing tube. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, wet from a single tear rolling down his face, and tucked your head back down to fall asleep again.

You woke up to a nurse gently shaking you away, informing you that you had to sleep in the other bed to prevent infection. You wanted to fight her for doing her job, but obliged. You fell back asleep quickly, too tired to stay awake because of the crying you had just finished doing.

“(Y/n).” You awoke to a quiet voice, blinking your eyes because of the bright sunlight streaming through the window. You immediately looked over at Jun-ho to see your fiance with his head turned looking at you.

“Jun-ho.” You stood up, stumbling out of bed in the clothes you had to have been wearing for at least a couple of days before now, and went over to kiss him on the lips, the same way he had the last time you had seen him before he went missing. He reciprocated with more force than you thought someone who hadn’t moved any part of his body in a month could.

“I missed you so much honey, I couldn’t breathe for so long.” He smiled and wiped a tear off of your face. 

“I know baby, but I’m here now, I’m here.” He looked at you with so much love and life in his eyes, exactly what you had been missing for the past month.

“I was so scared Jun-ho, first I couldn’t find you, and then once I did I- I wasn’t sure.” You paused, another tear streaming down your face. “I wasn’t sure you would make it.” You whispered.

“I know (y/n), and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“You- you got shot. You fell from really high into the water far out in the ocean. You have no idea how scared I was.”

His brow furrowed painfully before he suddenly pulled his head back and winced. “Jun-ho, Jun-ho? Are you okay?!”

You frantically pushed the call button and within seconds there was a team of doctors and nurses entering the room. They slowed slightly when they saw the scene in front of them, and quickly determined there was no immediate danger, and quickly began examining him and asking you both questions. Once the rest of the group left, Jun-ho’s main doctor sat in a chair to explain the situation to the both of you.

She explained what the team had seen when they had checked Jun-ho over, and explained the need for another set of scans to ensure there was no serious brain injury. “We also will need to call the police back to the hospital, because of the gunshot wound.”

Jun-ho froze, and his back grew stiff. “Baby, what’s wrong?” You rested your hand in his grip, tightening it around his.

“Nothing’s wrong, just nervous about the tests.” He squeezed your hand back and smiled up at you at your position sitting next to him on the bed. His body remained stiff, and your brow furrowed in confusion. He was likely traumatized and in pain, both physically and mentally.

Once the doctor left, you apprehensively asked him “Honey, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but… What happened when you were gone, with the fall, and the gunshot wound?”

He looked away from you and glanced out the window. He paused, “I don’t know. I don’t remember what happened.”

You leaned in and squeezed his hand again. “It’s okay if you do, I just want to help you.”

He remained looking out the window, until he looked back at you, something tight across his eyes. “I really don’t know, can we please talk about something else. I’m going to get enough of that from my coworkers later anyways.” He laughed, but the tightness across his face remained the same.

Smiling a similar tight smile, you squeezed his hand back. “Okay. Just, let me know if you remember anything.”

“Now, is there anything I can do to help you?” 

“Jun-ho, I’m not the one who just woke up from a coma, that’s my line!” Jun-ho smiled a real smile, and you copied him, smiling your first genuine smile in weeks.

After the tests, you wheeled Jun-ho in a wheelchair back into his hospital room, where you were greeted by his boss sitting in your usual chair next to his bedside. He stood up to greet you, “Detective! It’s so good to see you awake again!” He bowed to Jun-ho, and your husband nodded his head in return.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but do you think we could do the interview now? Just so we don’t get more in the way of you and your lovely wife.” He smiled, but there was anxiety furrowing his brow. He was clearly using many tactics that you watched Jun-ho explain that the police force used on victims and their families.

Jun-ho smiled back, “of course.” He looked up at you and smiled a similar tight smile towards you. “Honey, do you think you could go and get some coffee from downstairs for us?” 

You nodded, unsure of what to do as you could clearly tell that the coffee run was just an excuse to get you out of the room. “Of course.” There wasn’t anything you could do about it, and confronting your husband about something he is clearly not ready to talk about would certainly not be a solution. “Officer, would you like me to get you anything?”

He waved you off and you hesitantly exited the room to go downstairs.

Due to the emptiness of the hospital, it didn’t take you long to go down to the cafeteria, pick up some coffee for you and Jun-ho, and come back upstairs. When you reached the floor that the room was on, you hesitated, noticing that the door was cracked and the sounds of him and his boss were still quietly filtering out into the hallway.

You debated for a second staying and eavesdropping, but your moral compass won out in the end. Whatever it was, Jun-ho was clearly not ready to tell you. You didn’t want to betray his trust, and eventually, he would share it with you. The two of you had no secrets between you. If there ever was a night when Jun-ho would have to stay later at work, or was suddenly asked to hang out by his friends, he would call you immediately and tell you what was going on and when he would probably be home. Not that you necessarily needed him to, you trusted him, but he insisted that he never wanted you to worry after him. You did the same in turn, even though your job was far less demanding than his and plans came up far less sporadically for you than they did for him.

As you walked away, you heard a sliver of the conversation “hundreds… shot.” It made you pause in your step. You must’ve misheard. Maybe he had said something else. Maybe you were too sleep-deprived and stressed to think clearly. Still, you turned those words around in your head as you sat in a chair in the hallway next to the nurse’s station.

If you hadn’t misheard- if; what would it mean? Did Jun-ho have a brain injury that didn’t turn up on scans that makes him misremember what happened? Or- or was he telling the truth? Your husband wasn’t a liar, he was the perfect detective because of his strict moral compass, so that must mean… That must mean that if there was no brain injury, and if you didn’t mishear, wherever Jun-ho was he had watched hundreds of people die.

You heard a knock on the doorframe, “Mrs. Hwang, we’re done with the interview.” 

You stood up and walked toward the door when the other detective put his hand on your shoulder while his face grimaced. “I hope everything works out well for the two of you, I really do.” With that foreboding line of encouragement, he walked past you and towards the elevator.

When you entered the room, Jun-ho smiled at you. “(Y/n).” You walked towards him and kissed his forehead, handing him the cup of coffee.

Kissing his forehead, you asked, “How did it go? Are you alright?”

Jun-ho’s brow creased, but he smiled back at you still. “It went well, I just told him that I didn’t know anything.”

That didn’t make sense. You had to have been gone for at least 20 minutes, there was no way those 15 minutes were filled with the other detective asking questions that your husband kept saying no to.

“I’ll have to go into the station later on after I’m discharged and give a longer more formal statement, but for now they’ll leave us alone.”

“Great, I’m glad to have you all to myself.” You leaned over and kissed him on the lips again. You trusted him, and whatever it was that he wasn’t telling you, he would open up about soon. 

He didn’t. After another 2 weeks, the hospital was completely sure there were no long-standing effects. Besides having to regularly come in for check-ups and to carefully not hurt the shoulder where he was shot, miraculously there were no other serious effects.

You had finally gone back into the apartment after he woke up, although you weren’t happy about going back when it was lifeless due to Jun-ho’s absence. By the time he was discharged, the apartment was dust-free, and you made sure that everything was the same as it had been when he had first gone missing.

In the past couple of weeks, Jun-ho had been too calm. He was casual about just about everything. He was smiling, and making jokes, like nothing had ever happened. But, underneath it all, you could tell something was different. When you’ve been with someone for so long, had exchanged wedding vows, and slept in the same bed for years, you just knew them. You knew your husband, and something was off about him. He refused to go to sleep in the hospital room with the door open, and every time you came or went he would make you close the door behind you. He insisted that you spent the night in the hotel room with him (not that you were complaining) even when he was far out of the danger zone. On the car ride home from the hospital he would check the mirrors every time he thought you weren’t looking.

There was something completely off about him, he seemed paranoid, and for the first time in your relationship besides his brother’s disappearance- scared. But every time you would ask him what was wrong, he would just smile and say “I’m alright, just adjusting.”

You carried all of your stuff to the apartment, insisting on doing so even though your stubborn husband wanted to carry luggage even with a bullet recently being removed from his shoulder. But, when you left the elevator and were about to go into the apartment, he stopped you by putting his hand out.

“Baby, I just want to get inside. This is heavy.” You complained.

“I know, just- just give me a minute. I want to check something.” He silently turned the key to your small apartment, took off both his shoes, and stepped inside. He pulled up his pant leg slightly and took out a gun that you didn’t even notice was there.

“Jun-ho!”

He turned back to you and put his finger to his lips, shushing you. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He closed the door behind him, and you stood there shocked. You knew something was wrong, but you didn’t expect him to take out a gun and search your home.

In a couple of minutes, he came back out. “What the hell Jun-ho? What was that!” 

“It was nothing, I’m sorry.” He put the gun back away.

“Why would you search our house? You’ve never done that before. Seriously Jun-ho, what’s going on?” You shouted, exasperated by him saying one thing and acting in a completely opposite way.

“It’s nothing.” He sighed, “I’m sorry (y/n), I’m just scared. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the hospital, so I’m nervous.” He leaned in and gave you a hug, which you reciprocated. But still, that wasn’t the whole truth.

“I think you should see someone Jun-ho, this isn’t normal.” You said into your husband’s chest.

“(Y/n), I’m fine. I promise.” You leaned your head up and kissed him again.

The first week back was difficult. Jun-ho seemed terrified of just about everything around him. The both of you barely left the house, and when you did his hand held yours in a tight grip.

Your job had given you an extended leave to take care of Jun-ho, but your leave was ending in a few weeks once the two-month mark passed. 

You were laying in bed one night, Jun-ho tracing circles on your shoulder as you spooned after making love. “Jun-ho, I’m worried about you.”

He kissed your shoulder, “what about?” He said casually.

You rolled over to face him. “About everything, you’ve been so scared and stressed. I don’t know what’s going to happen once I go back to work.” 

He propped his head on his hand as he laid on his side, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m starting to feel better. I’m sorry I’ve been so paranoid lately.”

You sighed, “I want you to see someone Jun-ho. I don’t want this to fester and fester.”

He sighed, “I know (y/n), I promise it’ll get better soon. I talked to the chief today, I’ll go back to work next week.”

You shot up in bed, “two weeks? Babe, that isn’t nearly enough time. You still can’t lift anything heavier than a paper clip with your left arm.”

Jun-ho reached back towards you and stroked your arm. “Well good thing I’m right-handed.” He smirked.

Tilting your head, you just looked back at your husband anxiously. “Jun-ho this is serious. You aren’t ready to go back to work.”

“(Y/n), please trust me. This will all be over soon, okay?” He looked at you pleadingly. He didn’t want you to drop it or ignore it, he wanted you to- trust him? There was a secret, but he clearly didn’t want you to know it, and just to wait.

Sighing, you said, “Okay, I’ll wait.” You didn’t know what else to say. You couldn’t make him tell you the truth, and he wanted you to not push it. There was nothing to do. “But I really want you to talk to someone.”

He leaned in to kiss you, and right before he touched your lips, he said “Okay, I will; for you.” Then he closed the distance and kissed you until you needed to come up for air.

Your house was quieter after you both went back to work. When Jun-ho came home from work he would make his way next to you on the couch, lay down, and put his head on your lap. It was nice at first, after so much stress you could simply relax and enjoy each other's company.

Soon after getting home, he would get tired. Sometimes falling asleep on your lap.

After a month of him getting back to work, you were exhausted from the silence. It became oppressive. You grew tired of the same routine, and how your husband never quite grew less paranoid. He became better at hiding it, attaching cameras and extra locks around your house under the guise of burglaries in the building that you had never heard of. He would stand up from his crouch install the locks and wrap his arms around you, kissing you and telling you that he just wanted you to be safe.

Before his accident, he would wake up every morning and make breakfast for the both of you, insisting that it was the most important meal of the day. After the accident, he started to make lunch as well, and whenever you suggested that you go out for dinner, he smiled and told you that he enjoyed your cooking so much more.

Then, after 3 months, he came home completely exhausted. It was later than usual, and you stayed up late to greet him, completely concerned by his lack of response to any of your texts. “Jun-ho, where the hell were you? Are you okay?!” You ran up to him as soon as he opened the door, looking him up and down for any injuries.

“No, I’m fine.” He smiled a lopsided and insincere smile at you. He smelled like alcohol.

“Were you drinking?” You demanded.

“Me and my coworkers went out for a couple of bottles of soju after work, nothing much.” He shook off his shoes and went to hug you.

You pulled away, “why didn’t you tell me? We always tell each other these things.” 

“Baby, I had a long, long day, let’s not do this right now.”

“No, we have to do this right now, what happened? You’ve been so strange lately, and you never went to talk to someone like you said you would.” You paused, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “I’m really concerned for you. I want you to get tested for PTSD.”

He stepped closer to you, “I don’t have PTSD, I just had a long day.” You didn’t move. He sighed, “(Y/n), please, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?”

You didn’t say anything but didn’t move when he closed the distance between you to pull you into a tight hug. You finally reciprocated, pulling him closer, when you heard silent sniffling from next to your ear. In a heartbeat, you felt a drop of wetness on your shoulder. 

The next day, Jun-ho quit being a detective. After he started crying, he pretended like nothing had happened, got silent, and took a shower before going to bed. You barely spoke another word the rest of the night, but after he thought you went to sleep you could feel him trace circles on your shoulder.

He told you as soon as he got home that being a detective was too much work for him after the accident, and he tired more easily, but you didn’t buy it for a second.

“Jun-ho, you love your job, why would you quit? Do you want to go back on leave?” You pleaded at your husband.

He smiled back at you, “Of course I love my job, it’s only temporary.” And he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

Temporary. Although your better judgment told you otherwise, you put all your faith in that one little word. Temporary, this, like everything else making your husband act so different, would pass.

Jun-ho came home late the next day. Then the next. The first you waited up for him, sitting at the dinner table, your food growing cold. When your husband came in, he didn’t smell like alcohol, he simply kissed you on the forehead and sat down across from you, not confronting his tardiness. You cried yourself to sleep that night, with your husband laying stiff as a board next to you, unsure of what to do.

The next night, when he was late, you didn’t bother to wake up. You left his food in the fridge and went to bed early, tears streaming down your face. You were still awake when he came into bed but pretended to be asleep. You could feel the bed shaking from his silent sobs.

The next month went on in the same way, with the only escape from the monotony of your miserable silence being Jun-ho’s one day off. On that one day, you would pretend that you didn’t have any problems, that you were a normal couple who would go walking through the cherry trees and go out drinking together late at night. You went on a double date with one of your coworkers and her husband and sat awkwardly through one of their arguments. It wasn’t the same, but having some bit of refuge away from your stress was a lifesaver.

But even that changed. One day, you decided to go kayaking out in the bay, and while you were out in the water, Jun-ho stopped for a minute. There was a gap in your conversation, and during it, your husband stopped paddling.

“Babe, are you alright?”

He looked up at you as if startled. “Yeah, I’m alright.” He paused, “Would it be okay if we went back, I need to do something important.”

“Um, yeah sure. What is it?” You hesitantly asked.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” Your face sank. Every question you asked your husband ended with him saying ‘It’s nothing,’ no matter how big of a deal it likely was.

A couple of days later, when your husband came home late again, he told you that he would be busy on his day off and that a friend of his needed help on his boat. You just smiled and nodded, because what else could you really do?

Then he was busy the next weekend, and then the next, and the next. You only really saw your husband for a couple of minutes in the morning, and a couple of minutes in the night. Sometimes, you were able to make time. Sometimes, you would go out for a nice dinner, or go out to a friend’s party for the holidays. On your birthday he took the whole day off work and planned every single thing you would do all day. He made breakfast, took you shopping in the morning, went out to a nice lunch, took you out to the countryside to the ocean, and bought you lunch in your favorite tiny spot next to the shore. It was like for just 24 hours you had your husband back.

But other than that, it was like living with a ghost. He got more and more stressed over time. He smiled the same amount, but even with taking a demotion to a regular cop, he was getting worse and worse over time. He felt tenser, and more on edge than he had ever been before.

Every night you would fall asleep crying, you became used to waking up with a wet pillow or having to look at your puffy eyes when you wiped the condensation off the mirror after crying in the shower. Whenever Jun-ho saw the tears, whether you were laying in bed or cooking dinner on one of the rare nights that he came home early would wrap you in a hug from behind, and say, “I’m so sorry honey, I promise this will pass.” 

And you would plead, “Please honey, please, just tell me what’s happening, please be here more.”

And he would press his head into your back and whisper, “I can’t, I’m sorry. I love you.”

Your hopes would drop all over again, “I love you too.”

It was three years before anything changed. You would constantly beg him to do anything, to see someone, to talk to you, to do anything. Your friends asked you if he was cheating, but you knew he wasn’t. You knew, somehow that whatever was happening, was big, and important. And that it was eating you and your husband alive.

You didn’t see him for three days. He answered all of your texts with “Just something for work, I’ll be home soon. I love you.” Nothing else. No explanation for anything.

You slept on the couch and stayed there when you were awake, racked with anxiety. When he finally came home you sat there staring straight ahead. He didn’t speak.

You had pictured a fight, a confrontation. You had begged and pleaded, with tears in your eyes before. But nothing had happened. And after almost four years, you didn’t have any energy left.

“I want a divorce.” You surprised yourself with the words.

You looked up at him, and he stood there, his expression unreadable. 

“If you can’t tell me what the hell is going on, tomorrow I’m going to a lawyer.” 

He stumbled toward you and dropped to his knees in front of you, “(Y/n), please. You just have to trust me. This, this’ll all be over soon. I know I’ve said it before, but this time I mean it, soon it’ll be just like before.”

You looked into your husband’s eyes which were beginning to fill with tears. “I don’t believe you.”

“Baby, please. I can’t tell you, I really can’t.” His head dropped, breaking eye contact as you saw a tear fall down to reach the floor. He whispered, “If- if you know the truth, I don’t know what’ll happen to you. And I can’t risk that. I- I’ve risked everything else. But I can’t risk you.”

You couldn’t cry, your tears were all dried up. You should be shocked by what he was saying, but your mind went back to what you heard him say from outside that hospital room years ago “Hundreds… Shot.”

“I know, I’ve known. I know that you remember, and I know that it’s related to when you went missing. I just need you to trust me. I can’t do this anymore.”

He looks up at you, grabbing your hands and wrapping his around yours. “I know, I’m so sorry, but I need you to just wait a little bit longer-”

You stood up. “I think you should leave.” 

“(Y/n), please.”

You walked away from him, towards your bedroom. “(Y/n), I love you.”

“I love you.” And then you heard the door shut.

As you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel empty, like your heart had been torn out of your chest. The brutal calm you had been through was over, but storm had just begun.

Part two will be out with the next season, stay tuned for more!

[cthulhus-curse]

Leather & Lace

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4,012

Warnings: Age Difference, Breeding, Degradation, Jealousy, Mommy Kink, Nursing, Pervy!Stepmom!Wanda, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Slight fluff, Somnophilia, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: After a split-second decision, Wanda finally gets what she wants from her lovely little stepdaughter.

Eyes remained emotionless as a front to the anger that lay beneath them. Watching intently, they studied the somber scene, narrowing as they watched a hand lower to a spot they had previously claimed as their own — of course not officially, but you could only dream.

You hadn’t spoken a word during the entirety of the morning. Glaring at your father was second nature at best as you hid behind the excuse of him being away for too long and never having time for you. Adulthood carried on many things, one of them being a disdain for being around him. The same couldn’t be said for your stepmother though.

Wanda laughed as the man whispered something in her ear, biting down on her bottom lip — it was a move you found to be adorable each time you feasted your eyes upon it. She was finishing off the dishes, breakfast already having been served in earlier hours. The perfect housewife was to keep you all fed, to be a submissive entity for your father to walk all over.

“We were thinking about going to the park today. Wanda wants to take the twins there,” your father piped up when turning to you. A set of twin brothers from Wanda’s previous marriage were the only ones to keep to sane as you watched the relationship between your dad and stepmom develop further for years. “Wanna come?”

“Whatever,” came your huff. The harsh gaze Wanda threw at you made you squirm, but your eyes faltered and ignored it out of fear.

“Come on, don’t be like that. We just want to have some family time-”

“Not my family,” you repeated as you had many times through the years. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need mommy,” you turned to Wanda staring daggers, “to take care of me. The only reason I haven’t moved out is because I’m waiting to finish college. Then I’m getting the fuck out of this shit town.”

“Y/N, don’t you dare talk like that,” your father warned.

“Or what? You’re not even around enough to give a shit about whether I move or not. It’s always work, work, and wo-” as you rambled on about his absence since his divorce from your mother, his phone rang. Not even a Saturday, the boys with their father for the weekend, could be spent in peace with his own family. “Speak of the devil. Are you gonna answer that?”

Without a word, your father excused himself. During the early years of having moved with him, you surely blamed him for the lack of parenting he carried out. You’d move with your mother if she wasn’t halfway across the world teaching English as a second language in various countries, living her life to the fullest as she ignored her motherly duties. All through high school you had been alone. Now in college, the one person you didn’t know you could count on was the surrogate caregiver who pranced to your side.

“Darling, that’s no way of speaking to your dad,” Wanda said in a low voice, tender as fury rose from the depths of her words. “You should apologize. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“I’m not doing jack-shit for you. You’re not my mom, you bitch.”

Surely the tone was harsher than you meant it to be, especially when the woman towered over you in the kitchen, you sitting on the stool by the island gulping down a know of fear. She tilted her head and suddenly all the years of anger, hatred, and surprising lust you felt for her vanished, let alone for the last one of course. With dark viridescent eyes dripping with need, she dropped her gaze to your lips.

Neither of you were fazed when your father ran to get an overnight bag ready. His job called for spontaneous trips across the world much like your mother, seeking out investment opportunities for this technology company, and yet most of the time you deduced he was simply using it as an excuse to fuck his secretary — same as he had done with your mother before marrying Wanda.

While he was adding the finishing touches to his bag, distracted as ever, Wanda grabbed your arm. She didn’t hesitate to use undying strength when pulling you away, the heels of her flats clicking against the hardwood floor when you made your way upstairs. Regardless of how much you attempted to twist away, she still held you in place.

“Stupid girl,” she growled. “It’s time we have a little chat about those icky moods of yours.”

You never expected to find yourself thrown over your bed, the woman locking the door as quick as she could. Many times she’d be the one to crack it open and watch as you undressed, a hand shoved between her legs as she hummed at herself. Not that you knew, but she was devoted to making you hers.

“You’ve been in a terrible mood all week, I get it, but don’t you ever dare speak to me like that,” was the first thing Wanda yelped as she towered over you, you sitting by the edge of the bed while she stood proudly. “You need to learn to behave.

“Oh shut up.”

To say her fury escalated at that would be an understatement.

“What’s gotten into you?” She frowned at you, crowing her eyes before stalking forth. As soon as Wanda tilted her head once again, a trademark move of hers, you knew you were done for. She explored your features, eventually averting her gaze down between your legs that you were rubbing against one another. “Oh I see.” A smile spread across her face as she softened up. “Does it maybe have anything to do with this?”

Eyes widened as Wanda, who was well pressed against you, heavy hot breaths falling on your face, cupped your clothed sex. She roughly pressed her fingers against you until she rubbed you, giving you pleasure even with the layers you wore. The hum she let out was all-knowing. Leave it to her to solve a mystery that to you ages to come up with an answer for.

“Wanda what are you-”

“Shhh be quiet, baby. You wouldn’t want your dad to find out, right? Don’t you want to be a good girl for mommy?” She raised her eyebrows, deep green eyes crawling into your soul and pulling out the submissiveness that lay beneath, and you couldn’t help but nod immediately. “Good. Now let me make it better. Your little pussy is all sticky and needy huh? I bet you get all hot and bothered when you see mommy. Tell me, sweetheart, have you touched yourself before? Has my pretty girl made herself cum at the thought of her mommy? I know you have, I’ve seen it. Those fingers look so cute inside your cunt.” She leaned in dangerously close. “Maybe I can show you some of the pictures I’ve taken of you like that.”

“Sometimes,” you admitted to her question, although in your hazy mind you couldn’t tell which one. Closing your eyes, you gripped the bed sheets while she rubbed your clothed cunt lazily.

“Yeah? Well, you have to remember that this is all mine. Mommy owns this pretty pussy of yours. Whenever you want to play with my property, you have to ask for permission.” Wanda sighed with relief as she allowed herself to bask in the wet noises your throbbing pussy made while she touched it. Even with your pajama pants on, she could tell you were oozing with juices. “You have no idea how long mommy’s been waiting for this. I’m glad my beautiful princess seems to like it.”

You didn’t fight back as she began tugging off your clothes until you were fully naked, her own being thrown over the floor only moments later. Being pushed back, you allowed your head to hit the mountain of pillows, the chill of the Fall coming through small gaps in your window causing you to shiver.

Seeing Wanda in her nude gloriousness made you drool. Perfection was her name. Her breasts stood perkily waiting to be played with, a toned stomach, slightly full with beautiful rolls, sitting there adorably crafted just for your enjoyment. There were stretch marks along her thighs, chest, and tummy which you urged yourself to kiss, only she hovered above you before you could so much as move.

Lips pressed against your own languidly. Numerous times you fantasized about what it would be like to kiss her, to have her naked frame brushing against your own, hard nipples on your skin, as your mouths danced to a steady rhythm.

“Touch me, please. Just fuck me or something…” you murmured as Wanda dropped a chaste kiss on your mouth. “Do it now. Fuck,” you grabbed her hand and let it fall on your pussy, humping it as you did with your pillows. “That’s good. Oh Wanda that feels so fucking amazing.”

“How pathetic,” she noted with raised eyebrows. Rather than keep touching you as you wished, Wanda slapped you harshly, brushing against your clit slightly and making you scream. “I said to stay quiet. Are you too stupid to understand? Maybe you’re just a mindless little slut for mommy. I bet there’s not a thought behind those pretty eyes of yours, huh?”

While you wished to relinquish some power, you quickly realized Wanda wouldn’t let you have any of it. After years of stressfully marrying your father, all she wished was to turn the tables, to have a submissive pet to use as a means to relieve all her stress. Watching you from afar, peeking through your door or even taking lewd pictures of you without your knowledge only enticed her madness; especially when she rummaged through your underwear drawer and stole a few pieces to wear while getting herself off at the sight of such images. Her craving for you drove her to the depths of desperation. You’d have to do as she said whether you liked it or not.

Fingers teased your entrance, a mocking laughter coming from Wanda as you squirmed beneath her. Neither of you noticed nor cared about the words of goodbye your father threw into the ghost house, the front door closing as you had a space just for yourselves. A weekend entirely devoted to her destroying you and claiming you as her own — how fun.

“I really should punish you for having such a dirty mouth. Cute princesses like you shouldn’t be saying those words, or making their mommies sad at that,” Wanda explained as she placed a kiss along your jaw, fingers making quick work to sloppily thumb at your clit. Folds were then parted, her hand coated with your slickness. When you sobbed at her words, she chuckled. “Oh but you’re just a little puppy, aren’t you? My lovebug doesn’t know any better. That’s okay. I’ll let it slide just this one time, but if you behave like a stupid whore again then I won’t hesitate to punish you.” She smacked her hand against your aching cunt. “Am I clear?”

“Yes,” you breathed out, arms wrapped around her shoulders as you pulled Wanda close.

“Yes what?”

Crying, clinging to her for dear life, you gave in. “Yes, mommy.”

“Good girl.” In all the years you had known her, never did you feel so many tremors running down your body in the presence of Wanda. “Now lay back and let mommy play with you, toy. Let me see how many fingers I can fill your cute pussy with.”

Heat radiated from her body as she began easing her fingers in your tight hole. For a moment she closed her eyes and thought back to the times she had seen you in compromising positions on top of a girl she knew was a friend from college, touching herself while imagining . Kate was never liked by your stepmother, and seeing as she possessively swiftly thrust a pair of digits inside grunting ‘mine’ beneath her breath, it was clear why.

“So wet and so fucking warm for me. Oh baby you feel divine,” Wanda moaned as she pressed her thumb against your clit, the two fingers inside your sticky, aching pussy being pushed deep until her knuckles brushed upon you. “My little baby was just so fussy. Can’t think straight without mommy’s help? Now, next time your princess parts get icky like this, you tell me about it. No need to be a bad girl. Just tell mommy and she’ll make it all better.”

“Yes, mommy,” you whined. “I wanna cum.”

“Already? Oh no little one I’ve barely touched you! You can go a bit longer for mommy, right? I know you can,” she announced. The way her tits brushed with yours, nipples erect and hypnotizing enough made you want to suck harshly on them. With her newly found position as her mommy, you’d surely ask for that. “Good baby bears only cum when mama bear says so, and I know my girl is really good.”

While making out with her, Wanda nipped oh so softly on your lower lip to silently ask for permission that you gave her. Wetness coated your mouth as she swirled her tongue inside, exploring the area while devouring your own tongue, making all that was yours her own. All she desired was to own you, and without much effort she got exactly what.

“You’re such a little whore, you know that, right? I’ve seen the way you touch yourself. Do you think about me when you stretch your pussy out with two fingers, sweetheart, or is it your friend that you imagine? You don’t need her. Mommy will teach you how to be good, and I promise I will always take care of my pretty angel. I don’t think she can do that, can she?” Wanda’s jealousy was rampant, but had always remained silent and simply waited for the time to take her prey as the predator she was. “Hmm and you’re so tiny. Such a delicate doll. It’s so cute how much of you I own already.”

By no means were her movements tender. She had waited long months to have you, always coming second to the disdain you had for humanity let alone for Kate. The poor thing was nothing but a friend you had fun with at times, but Wanda wasn’t about to let you whore yourself off to someone else when she was to care for you. Daily inspections would be a must to ensure her little one was hers.

“So full,” you whispered with your heart on the line for her. All Wanda did was curl her fingers up, making you scream with her mouth hovering above your own. “I’m so full with you, mommy.”

Your velvety walls clamped down harshly against her causing Wanda to grunt. “Hmm time for my little puppy to cum. Be good and show me what I want. Show me who your rightful owner is.”

When you finally did come undone, Wanda was there kissing your pleasurable screams away, still deep in your pussy fucking your through your orgasm, not letting you catch your breath as she made you hers.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

During certain nights Wanda found her desperation growing by the second. She didn’t have trouble slipping away from her shared bed with her husband and instead waltzing into your room, a rather large toy nestled comfortably between her legs. Entering your room in the depths of darkness was nothing new, but with the hunger she felt, it would be the first time she took you without caring for what you had to say in response.

Earlier that day you had excused yourself to explore the world with friends. Weekends were the only times where you got to relax, to ignore all the workload being crammed through the week and instead find your inner peace. Since the weeks you’d been secretly seeing Wanda you’d spend extra time with her, the boys and your father away on certain occasions, so not having you around was a rather lonely task your stepmother had to get through by herself.

All Wanda had wished to do was wrap you up safely in her arms and nuzzle her face against your shoulder. After having cleaned on that day, the twins having gone away with your father on a camping trip, she entered your room. There she found a frame picture of you and her from when you finished your first year of college and were taken out to dinner as a means to celebrate. Once she undressed herself and eased down on a stuffed animal of yours, one she gave you as a birthday present the previous year, Wanda began getting herself off. Humping the plushie and teasing her clit with one hand, the other held the picture in place as she eyed your shining face, moaning your name as she came.

Now in the late hours of the night, she’d finally get her toy to play with.

When she first shifted over the bed, you slurred slightly. The last thing she’d want was to awaken you from your peaceful slumber knowing you never got enough sleep with all the stress that floated around you.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Wanda’s voice was low as she pulled at your pajama pants along with your underwear, her silk robe already pooling on the floor. “Let mommy touch you a bit. I’ve missed my little slut so much.” Laying you on your side, your cunt in full view, she ran a hand through your slick folds. “So wet already. Oh I bet you spent all day fantasizing about being fucked like the whore you are. Now be a good girl and take my cock.”

While still asleep she grabbed her strap and slid it up and down your slit, making sure to pry your legs open a bit so she could swirl it across your clit. Once fully coated with your juices, jerking herself off a bit as though it was real, Wanda began inching inside, groaning as she basked in the sloshing sounds that came as she stretched out your tight hole.

Strong hands went to grip your hips in place. Wanda pressed her faced against the back of your neck, cheeks flushed and barely visible in the dimly lit room as she fucked you nice and slow. Even in your sleep you were responsive, little noises coming from your parted lips. The deeper she moved her cock in your pussy, the more you stirred.

“Mommy?” You groggily asked, eyes fluttering open slightly. “What’s going on? I feel really weird.”

“It’s okay, princess. Mommy just missed you. Won’t you let me touch you?” Although exhausted, you nodded. “Good girl. I even brought the special toy. You can have all of mommy’s treat. Do you want it now, baby?”

Hugging you from behind, Wanda pumped her cock in and out of your puffy cunt, a hand sneaking between your legs to stimulate your clit. She had to remind you to be quiet, that only good girls would get rewards. The last thing she wished was to alert your father of the rather taboo relationship you held, especially knowing it would come to an end.

For a few moments your mommy allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of your pussy. She desperately wished to truly understand how tight you were as your walls held her faux cock, the toy sliding past your folds as you hungrily took it all. Neither of you minded the mess that formed on your sheets, Wanda being far too blissed out as she desired to take everything from you – your sanity, your freedom, and your love would be all hers.

“Whatever my baby wants she gets,” she husked out.

Wanda pulled out her cock, leaving you empty and sobbing with exhaustion. Right as she was about to squeeze her drenched length, you grabbed her wrist, turning over so you could face her. She left you with droopy eyes and drool falling down your chin.

“Mommy, inside please,” you begged. Grinding yourself down against her bulbous dildo, you threw your head back. The way in which you clung to her, hands on her shoulders with eyes drifting down to her uncovered tits made her pity for you grew. “Please, I need it.”

“Oh but honey I don’t want to get my fleshlight all dirty.” Wanda nuzzled her face against your own, her flushed cheeks brushing yours. “Maybe if you beg a little…”

“Please mommy! I promise to be such a good girl, a whore, and let you use me whenever you want to. I need you to stuff me. I can't stop thinking about you inside me filling my pussy up with your treat. You can use me even when I say I don’t want to. Please, just cum inside me. I need it so bad.”

Wanda was more than content with your response. She cupped your face with a hand, the other guiding her strap-on back inside your pussy. “Hmm such a good slut. So desperate to have her cunt pumped full with my cum. Maybe I can even give you a baby. Would you like that, sweetie? For mommy to stuff you so full that you have my pups? Oh how cute you’d look.”

The redhead didn’t waste any time squeezing her cock halfway inside you until white sticky drops began squirting in your pussy. Foreheads remained together, your lips tenderly touching down upon hers, kissing mommy innocently, as she filled you up. With cum dripping down your inner thighs, Wanda made sure to fuck all of the seed back into you.

“Mommy’s fleshlight,” Wanda breathed out as she held you in place, hips moving and turning your bodies into one. “All mine. No one can have this pussy, baby. Only I can stuff you with pretty pups. Never forget that.”

“I’m full,” you cried. Not only did you have your cunt all pumped with cum, but also Wanda’s thick cock stretching you out.

“I know baby, mommy knows.” Wanda kissed your worries away, eyelids feeling heavy as she shared her love with you. She pulled down your head so you’d press up against her chest, humming calmly. “You can use your mouth if it’ll make it better, darling. Latch on. Mama is here to help you get some more sleep, okay?”

Nodding, you did as you were told. You had yet to reach your climax, so close yet too tired to beg for more. Wrapping your lips around one of her erect nipples, you latched on quickly. Many times you spend laying on top of Wanda, your hazy mind drifting you into Sandman’s realm, as she helped you relax against her. It was one of the many ways she coaxed your stress from school away.

While you began falling asleep once again, mouth suckling on Wanda’s breast, the older woman thrust her hips. She spent the rest of the night using her fleshlight – your aching cunt – before removing the strap from her waist and riding one of your thighs. Holding you close to her chest, mouth agape over skin, Wanda moaned whenever her clit brushed against you. She was practically dripping – only a few minutes passed up until she came undone after having brought you orgasm after orgasm.

To your dismay she was gone by the time you woke up in the morning. That Sunday was spent happily dancing around each other, Wanda’s hand brushing against your ass from time to time before she pressed you against the kitchen counter from behind when no one was looking – it was the perfect opportunity to grope your tits then. Each little moment the two of you got alone, you were sure to make the most of it. And of course when you showered, your stepmother was there peeking through the curtain with a hand between your legs – at least until you invited her inside, through the week rewarding her with various texts with lewd pictures of you she’d treasure forever.

[the-grey-hunt]

The quote is from this article:

TL;DR Entangled Press (best known for their Red Tower imprint, which publishes the Fourth Wing books) is being sued on the allegation that an agent used a former client's manuscript to help Tracy Wolff write the "Crave" books (or at least the first one).

article copied in full below the cut for people who get paywalled:

In the autumn of 2010, Lynne Freeman, a family-law attorney and an unpublished author, put the final touches on her first novel, “Blue Moon Rising.” The story revolved around a teen-age girl named Anna who falls in love with a werewolf and learns that she has magical powers. It was a fantasy, but it drew on Freeman’s own experiences growing up in Alaska. For years, Freeman had been fiddling with the material, imagining and reimagining characters, revisiting childhood memories. She even dreamed about the idea, and kept notes on it in a shoebox in her bedroom. In 2002, after becoming pregnant with twins, Freeman lost one of the babies and gave birth prematurely. Long nights lay ahead. She spent them caring for her son and working on her book.

A few months after she’d finished, in December, 2010, Freeman signed with an agent, Emily Sylvan Kim, the founder of Prospect Agency, a small firm based out of Kim’s home, in New Jersey. Kim, a slight woman with a youthful aura and a bright, clenched smile, struck Freeman as a kindred spirit—she’d launched her own business, just as Freeman had, and she’d even briefly attended law school. For the next three years, Freeman and Kim worked together to expand and refine the manuscript.

Kim sent pitches of “Blue Moon Rising” to more than a dozen publishers. The results were discouraging. “I thought the writing, the storytelling, in this manuscript was simply wonderful,” one e-mail read, but “we are . . . looking for things that fall into a newer territory.” Another editor wrote,“While the writing is really great and Anna was a very likable heroine, I worry that there are not enough new and different elements to the story here that would set it apart from the rest of the novels in the competitive paranormal/romance/YA market.” By March, 2014, all but one of the publishers had rejected the book, and Kim and Freeman parted ways. Freeman withdrew her outstanding submission from the final publisher, a press called Entangled.

In 2021, Freeman and her son, now a senior in high school, stopped at a bookstore in Santa Barbara on the way to receive their COVID vaccinations. Freeman, lingering in the young-adult section, picked out a book called “Crave,” by the author Tracy Wolff. She liked the cover: black with a large, bloodstained white flower in the center. It reminded her of “Twilight.” By the time she got home, she was already noticing muscle pain and fever from the vaccine. She began reading the novel, which was published by Entangled, and experienced a panic attack, the first she’d had in five years.

Freeman immediately spotted similarities to her own unpublished book. The main character was named Grace, not Anna, and her love interest was a vampire, not a werewolf, but in both stories the heroine moves from San Diego to Alaska after members of her family are killed in an accident. She lives with the only two relatives she believes she has left, both of whom are witches. A female rival slips her drugs. There’s an intimate moment under the northern lights. In a climactic scene, an evil vampire kidnaps her, and she ends up accidentally freeing a different vampire, whose return is said to herald the end of the world. (In Freeman’s planned sequel and Wolff’s actual ones, this vampire replaces the previous hero as the main character’s primary love interest.)

In addition to what Freeman felt to be the books’ obvious similarities, “Crave,” to her mind, contained details that could only have come from her, from her life. The novel’s opening scene describes flying in a puddle jumper above the Alaskan landscape. Freeman’s grandfather had been a bush pilot: she recalls reminiscing to Kim about what it had been like to go up in his tiny plane. A fantastical chessboard figures early on in “Crave”; a wall-size painting of a fantastical chessboard hangs in Freeman’s office. Wolff’s heroine is revealed to be a gargoyle. Freeman collects gargoyles—they guarded the path to the front door of her former home.

A Google search revealed that Tracy Wolff was a nom de plume for Tracy Deebs, a star client of Freeman’s former agent, Emily Sylvan Kim. Kim had introduced Freeman and Deebs at a Romance Writers of America conference in 2012. (Wolff and Kim claim to have no recollection of this meeting.) The name Stacy Abrams, which appeared in the acknowledgments section of Wolff’s book, was another pinprick. Abrams was the editor who had fielded Freeman’s book submission at Entangled. Freeman grew convinced that Kim and Liz Pelletier, the publisher and C.E.O. of Entangled, had shared the manuscript of “Blue Moon Rising” with Wolff and used it as the basis for the “Crave” series.

On February 7, 2022, Freeman, who had hired a lawyer, sent a letter threatening legal action to Kim, Wolff, Entangled, the company’s distributor Macmillan, and Universal Studios, which had optioned a film project based on the “Crave” books. “I really assumed that they would just apologize and fix it,” Freeman said. But, two days later, the Entangled counsel issued an icy response stating that “neither Pelletier nor Wolff ever heard of Freeman, read her ten-year old manuscript nor were aware of any details concerning the Freeman work.” The attorney added, “The agent, Kim, recalls nothing of this manuscript.” Freeman’s allegations were “speculative, unfounded, and easily rebutted as fanciful.” A month later, Freeman filed a copyright-infringement lawsuit. The litigation, which is ongoing, has cost Freeman several hundred thousand dollars and the defendants more than a million dollars.

The “Crave” series belongs to a powerhouse genre known as “romantasy”—romance plus fantasy. Stories have mingled love and magic for centuries, but the portmanteau crystallized as a market category during the pandemic. Works such as Sarah J. Maas’s novel “A Court of Thorns and Roses,” about a nineteen-year-old girl who falls in love with a fae high lord, surged in popularity, offering escape to readers stuck at home, often with company that was harder to view as enchanting under the circumstances. “The genre really caters to this perspective of, ‘If your life were going to be different, if you were plucked out of this reality, what would your dream reality be?,’ ” Emily Forney, an agent who works with young-adult and fantasy authors, told me. Romantasy sells a lightly transgressive form of wish fulfillment that holds out the enthralling promise of sex with vampires, manticores, werewolves, and other types of monsters and shape-shifters. (There’s even a “cheese-shifter” paranormal romance, by the author Ellen Mint, in which characters can turn into different types of cheese.)

In the past several years, the genre has attained a remarkable fandom. Print sales of romance novels more than doubled between 2020 and 2023. Meanwhile, the number of romance-focussed bookstores in the United States, with whimsical names such as the Ripped Bodice and Beauty and the Book, has swelled from two to more than twenty. Romantasy is helping to drive that boom. Publishers Weekly reported in October that five of the ten top-selling adult books of 2024 were written either by Maas or by her fellow romantasy icon Rebecca Yarros: the authors, combined, had sold more than 3.65 million copies of their novels in the first nine months of the year. A National Endowment for the Arts survey found that the number of Americans who reported finishing a single book in a year declined about six per cent between 2012 and 2022, but romantasy’s mostly female readers seem exempt from that downturn. They gather at midnight release parties and ardently break down their favorite titles on BookTok, a literary alcove of TikTok, where the hashtag for Maas’s series, #ACOTAR, has earned more than a billion views.

Many of these readers are millennials who grew up on “Harry Potter” and “Twilight” and expected more of the same once adulthood struck. Maas was among the first to acknowledge the sexual maturation of her audience. Although “A Court of Thorns and Roses,” published in 2015, featured mild erotic content by romance standards, it was far steamier than most Y.A. (“We moved together, unending and wild and burning, and when I went over the edge the next time, he roared and went with me.”) Love scenes in the later books went further, often adding anatomical specificity. In 2020, Maas’s publishers changed up their marketing strategy, causing the series to be rehomed in the adult section. “It birthed this genre of romantasy,” Cassandra Clare, the author of the best-selling fantasy series “The Mortal Instruments,” told me, “which to me is books that contain a lot of the tropes that make Y.A. popular but also have explicit sex in them.”

In some respects, romantasy has the feel of young people’s literature. The themes are Pixar-coded—forgiveness, compassion, overcoming adversity, celebrating difference—with a swoosh of black eyeliner. Cat Clyne, an editor at the Harlequin imprint Canary Street Press, described the genre as more welcoming than twentieth-century fantasy, which many readers now see as sexist. Romantasy “is emotion-positive—it’s about communication and falling in love,” she told me. “There’s less emphasis on world-building” and more on representing “strong female characters.”

Despite the genre’s egalitarian spirit, the most prominent romantasy authors are white. A reductive but not entirely spurious industry archetype has emerged, of temperamentally if not politically conservative women, often mothers, who find in their writing a means to success outside a traditional career path. “Twilight,” the precursor to today’s paranormal-romance novels, transformed Stephenie Meyer, a Mormon stay-at-home mother of three, into a millionaire. Yarros is a mother of six and a military spouse who began writing when her husband was deployed to Afghanistan. Like Freeman, Wolff first attempted commercial fiction after her son was born prematurely. Between 2007 and 2018, she published more than sixty romance, urban-fantasy, and young-adult novels, but it was not until she wrote a vampire-gargoyle love story that she shot to the top of the New York Times best-seller list. In April of 2024, Publishers Weekly reported that the six-volume “Crave” series had sold more than three and a half million copies worldwide.

All genre fiction (and arguably all fiction) is patterned on tropes, or received bits of narrative. But tropes have assumed a new importance in the creation and marketing of romantasy. On BookTok, users sort and tag titles by trope (#morallygreymen, #reverseharem, #daggertothethroat), allowing authors to tune their creative process to the story elements that are getting the most attention online. Entangled, “Crave” ’s publisher, gives visitors to its Web site the option to browse its selection by tropes such as “enemies-to-lovers” and “marriage of convenience.” Entangled editors fill out a form for every work they acquire; on the version of the form I viewed, there were fields in which to specify “tropes,” “paranormal elements,” “authors similar to,” “Heat level” (on a five-point scale from “mild” to “scorcher”), and the ratio of romance to suspense (from a maximum of 100/0 to a minimum of 20/80).

Romantasy’s reliance on tropes poses a challenge for questions of copyright. Traditionally, the law protects the original expression of ideas, not the ideas themselves. A doctrine named for the French phrase scènes à faire, or “scenes that must be done,” holds that the standard elements of a genre (such as a showdown between the hero and the villain) are not legally protectable, although their selection and arrangement might be. The wild proliferation of intensely derivative romantasies has complicated this picture. The worlds of romance and fantasy have been so thoroughly balkanized, the production of content so accelerated, that what one might assume to be tropes—falling in love with a werewolf or vampire, say—are actually subgenres. Tropes operate at an even more granular level (bounty-hunter werewolves, space vampires). And the more specific the trope, the harder it is to argue that such a thing as an original detail exists. For example, the “dark paranormal romance” subgenre mandates physical injury and a brooding, inhuman male lead. In 2018, the author Addison Cain filed a takedown notice against the author Zoey Ellis, accusing her of ripping off Cain’s lupine society of aggressive Alphas and submissive Omegas. Ellis sued Cain and her then publisher Blushing Books, arguing that she and Cain were both practicing the subgenre of “wolf-kink erotica,” which is based on open-source fan fiction. (Blushing Books settled out of court; a second suit Ellis filed against Cain was dismissed.)

Freeman’s suit rests on hundreds of similarities, compiled by Freeman and her lawyers, between her own manuscripts and notes and the “Crave” series. Taken one by one, few examples seem to rise to the level of infringement. The Alaskan setting, which Freeman saw as her intellectual property, is surprisingly common: Pelletier estimates that about ninety-five per cent of vampire novels take place in Alaska, New Orleans, or Las Vegas. Gargoyles have joined the menagerie of trendy paranormals, owing to the “Dark Elements” series, by Jennifer L. Armentrout. Small-plane pilots are standard issue for romance, a genre that loves a man in uniform, and it goes without saying that trysts under the aurora borealis are de rigueur. (One novel memorably features a hunky physician’s assistant who pleasures the heroine as “a brigade of ghostly rainbows jostled in the northern sky.”)

Other similarities are harder to explain away. In both books, the heroine’s parents bind her powers with tea; the male lead is guilty and grief-stricken over his older brother’s murder. I scoffed when I saw that Freeman’s side had listed “shining white courts” as a similarity, referring to the fact that, in both works, the heroine is brought to a marble building with white columns. But the court scenes have more than architecture in common. In each, the main character is transported to a timeless place presided over by a green-eyed woman. The heroine feels a sense of belonging; she is told that this is the home of her ancestors. In Wolff’s version of the scene, there are “thick white candles burning in gold candelabras.” In Freeman’s, there are “candles flickering to life in all of the wall sconces.” You can’t copyright candles any more than you can copyright marble, or ancestors, or green-eyed women. But the composition of these details, the totality of how the obvious or ordinary beats are strung together in each, is startling.

To show copyright infringement, Freeman will have to demonstrate that “actual copying” occurred and that the two texts are “substantially similar.” Because plaintiffs can rarely provide direct evidence of copying, the law allows them to prove it circumstantially, by establishing that the defendant had “access” to the allegedly infringed-upon work, either firsthand or through an intermediary. A problem for Freeman is that none of the 41,569 documents that the defendants were compelled to hand over make any mention of “Blue Moon Rising.” And Pelletier and Wolff both assert that they never saw Freeman’s novel or discussed it with anyone. Without direct proof of access, Freeman will have to take the weaker position that Wolff had a “reasonable possibility” of viewing the manuscripts, given her relationship with Kim. Another problem for Freeman is “substantial similarity” itself, a notoriously slippery standard located somewhere between works that raise suspicions of copying (probative similarity) and works that are almost identical to other works (striking similarity). The defendants argue that the two books feel extraordinarily different in tone, pacing, voice, and style. And “if they feel different,” Pelletier told me, “then they are.”

In romance, the heroine’s H.E.A., or happily ever after, often depends on how smoothly she can adapt to a new situation. The same might be said for publishers of romantasy, who have had to adjust to an unruly landscape of self-publishing that is adjacent to, and increasingly competitive with, mainstream publishing. The reigning principles of this indie world are “more” and “faster.” Because Amazon’s search algorithm appears to favor writers with larger backlists, there’s an incentive to flood the platform with titles—and to pad those titles with as many pages as possible, as Kindle Unlimited distributes royalties to the creators with the highest number of pages read. (This has spawned an epidemic of “page-stuffing,” in which authors load their novels with bonus material; authors have also been accused of using bots to artificially inflate their reader tally.)

Although many of the romantasy agents, writers, and editors I spoke to were not concerned about the field’s frenetic pace, a few felt that it could be overwhelming. “I think it puts authors in an impossible position,” the award-winning fantasy novelist Holly Black told me. “No one wants to cut corners on quality, and so you have to do this kind of heroic thing to get your book to be how you want it in a time frame that’s pretty much impossible.” The same conditions that promote speed can also foster “a pressure toward clickbait,” she added. Authors identify the most irresistible tropes and reproduce them as efficiently as possible. The book blogger and author Jenny Trout told me that, “in romantasy, copycats are commonplace. Authors are giving the people what they want, but it’s also like you’re reading the same book over and over again.”

To stand out, Entangled combines a careful attention to the physical look and feel of its novels—its deluxe editions, with adornments such as foil and stencilled edges, pop on Bookstagram—with a strategic, at times unconventional production process. The house accepts manuscripts from authors with a clear concept of what they want to write, but it also works collaboratively on special projects, in which “we are invited into the author’s process from day zero and continue in that spirit throughout editing,” Pelletier told Publishers Weekly. Entangled’s biggest romantasy titles, including Yarros’s “Empyrean” series, now come from its Red Tower imprint, whose model falls somewhere between that of a book packager and that of a traditional publisher. Book packagers assign teams of writers and editors to create content for an outside client, who can request specific elements, such as “the fae” or “hockey-themed romance.” Often, the writers receive a flat fee for their work (“work for hire”), sign over their I.P. rights, and are not entitled to royalties. Packaged titles are relatively safe bets for publishers, offering agility and responsiveness to subtle changes in market demand. Still, many houses want to avoid the perception of either working with packagers or packaging themselves, so as to attract prestigious authors and dodge accusations of predatory contracts.

Pelletier denies engaging in book packaging, but acknowledged, through her attorney, that, “unlike some other traditional publishers, Entangled tends to work more with its authors at the ideation stage to try to organically bake in a high concept.” “Crave,” according to the defense counsel, was “a collaborative project with Pelletier providing to Wolff in writing the main plot, location, characters, and scenes, and actively participating in the editing and writing process.” On the phone, Pelletier, a former software engineer, insisted that her approach isn’t particularly different from those of “publishers in New York.” (Entangled has no physical office; Pelletier operates out of Austin.) “They do the same thing,” she told me. “I’ve just been very successful at it.”

Opinion on Pelletier in the industry is divided. Publishers Weekly named her its 2024 Person of the Year, citing her “out-of-the-box” thinking. The agent Beth Davey called her “a visionary, brilliant marketer.” Trout, the author and blogger, described Pelletier as “shady” and characterized Entangled as “a Mickey Mouse operation” pushing “nice, nonpolitical white ladies who are good at being pretty in photos and building parasocial relationships online.” One of the more than fifteen writers I spoke to for this piece told me that she’d met with Pelletier to discuss her finished book, but that Pelletier had urged her to develop an entirely different, as yet unwritten, story idea, complaining that “the problem with traditional publishing is that they just let writers write whatever they want, and they don’t even think about what the TikTok hashtag is going to be.” (Through her attorney, Pelletier said she didn’t recall any such conversation and that “Entangled doesn’t rely heavily on hashtags when marketing books on TikTok.”)

Buried within Pelletier’s deposition testimony is an origin story for “Crave.” Toward the end of the twenty-tens, she decided that the time had come for a vampire renaissance. A decade had passed since the “Twilight” movies, and she’d read that fads take about ten years to cycle back around. She’d also heard that teen-age readers weren’t finding the current wave of paranormal heroines relatable enough: the characters were too sure of themselves, too perfect. Pelletier, whose colleagues describe her as a gifted trendspotter, wanted a “fish out of water” story, one that thrust an ordinary girl into a rarefied world.

Early in 2019, an Entangled author was unable to deliver her book as planned, leaving a gap in the schedule. Wolff and Kim both recalled Pelletier needing a writer who could produce good work at a sprint. Wolff is “one of the fastest, but not the fastest writer I’ve ever worked with,” Pelletier said to me. Abrams reached out to Wolff, who responded with five pitches, the second of which featured a sexy, degenerate teen-age monster and a straitlaced scholarship student. With Abrams as an occasional intermediary, Pelletier and Wolff hammered out a basic story shape.

At the time, Wolff was regaining her footing after a difficult period. Her twenty-year marriage had fallen apart a few years earlier, and divorce was not ideal for an author trying to convert fantasies of romantic bliss into rent and groceries. Wolff had written paranormal fiction before, but love stories were her O.T.P., her one true pairing. She was nervous about jumping into the vampire tradition. “I didn’t think I had anything new to bring to the table,” she told the podcaster Hank Garner in 2020. But her doubts lifted when the series’ heroine, Grace, popped into her head and started talking. “She was funnier than I expected,” Wolff told Garner—witty, spirited, a bit sarcastic. In a Q. & A. with the Nerd Daily, Wolff said, “I actually identify a lot with the heroine, Grace. There’s a lot of me in her, including the snarky sense of humor—especially when things get bad.”

The process of putting out “Crave” was chaotic. Wolff wrote a rough draft in two months, from May to June of 2019, but Pelletier didn’t start editing in earnest until December, several weeks before the book was scheduled to go to press. “My editor had a couple of other projects that she was working on,” Wolff recalled on Garner’s podcast, “and then when she came back, she was, like, ‘This is good, but’ ”—Wolff’s voice sped up as if to simulate a torrent of feedback—“ ‘you need to change this, you need to change this . . . you need to add that.’ ” The pair of them revised the manuscript, adding about fifty thousand words in a week and a half. Wolff said, “We were so exhausted . . . the two of us by the end were blithering idiots.” The novel came out in April, 2020. A sequel, “Crush,” followed in September, 2020, and two more, “Covet” and “Court,” appeared in March, 2021, and February, 2022. (During her deposition, Wolff explained that she wanted each title to evoke love, a statement that confused the lawyer, who asked, “What does court have to do with love?”)

Entangled was motivated to push the sequels out swiftly because COVID was catalyzing book sales. Correspondence among Kim, Pelletier, Abrams, and Wolff suggests that, in the hectic days and hours before a book deadline, an already collaborative creative process could become an all-out emergency. It was sometimes hard to tell who added what. “Love ‘our tree of trust is just a twig’ did you write that?” Kim texted Pelletier, about a line in “Crush.” Referring to a different line, Pelletier said, “I wrote that sentence, but I was using Tracy’s voice.” And: “I came up with every header but the first chapter lol.” While closing “Court,” which was on a particularly tight schedule, author, editor, and agent supplied sentences and ideas, all of which swirled together in the various documents being updated in tandem on each of their laptops. Pelletier asked Kim, “Tracy wrote that moonstone description?” Kim texted Abrams, “Tracy and I are team speed writing new scenes,” and “I’ve stopped copy editing because I helped write all this.” (The defense said that Kim’s contribution “was extremely limited and was entirely technical.”)

Wolff seems to find value in a more coöperative workflow. She described herself to Garner as “one of those weird . . . very rare extrovert authors” who “loves to go on writers’ retreats and loves to meet up at, you know, Barnes & Noble and write with their friends.” Like Wolff, Grace is a team player, the center of a big ensemble cast. There are also nurturing Macy, the “cheerleader” of the crew, and tough-as-nails Eden. Wolff told me that she wanted to use her novel to “talk about feminine strength in all its forms.” Her female characters “build the life that they want, not on the shoulders of others, but with others.”

Wolff is an only child. Her father died unexpectedly when she was twenty-two; a few months later, she suffered her first panic attack. Grace, the “Crave” heroine, is also an only child who has panic attacks stemming from the loss of her parents. “I was absolutely channelling some of my own past,” Wolff told me. Her present was impinging, too. She was falling in love with her current partner while she was writing “Crave”; she suspects that some of her elation soaked into the story.

In the “Crave” series, Grace speaks in a knowing, casual, Avengers-inflected tone. Referring to her gargoyle nature, she says, “I sleep like a stone—pun totally intended.” Facing down an abominable beast: “Yep, we’re all going to die.” The series renders the potentially odd and inward aspects of fantasy salable—paranormals are just like contemporary humans, with familiar psychologies, politics, and value systems. They even like the same Top Forty pop songs. World-building details, such as the logistics of being a vampire, are left unexplained. Dénouements can feel duct-taped together, with jarring omissions and convoluted exposition. In the course of the series, characters learn never to underestimate themselves; they grasp the importance of empathy, forgiveness, and friendship; they manifest prolific and appealing forms of feminine power. Most vivid by far are the sex scenes. “Tracy is a romance writer at heart,” Pelletier told me.

Freeman’s manuscript is quieter, more internal. Unlike Wolff, she always knew that fantasy was her genre. She’d immersed herself in Tolkien growing up, and she used to imagine that the people walking around Anchorage were deer shifters or veela, long-haired maidens who called down storms from the sky. She wanted her novel to be as awash in mysterious possibility as her adolescence had been. Her book’s posture toward the natural world is one of respectful awe; reading it, you sense a deeply ingrained isolation.

In “Blue Moon Rising,” Anna is reeling from the sudden loss of her father and his parents. This struggle is drawn from Freeman’s life. When she was four and a half, she and her mother returned from a trip out of state to a completely bare apartment. Her father had left, forcing a split between Freeman and the paternal side of her family. “I wanted to write about a heroine who has tremendous courage because she has panic attacks from loss,” Freeman told me. “She thinks about loss all the time. It’s a thorn in her heart.” Shadowy father figures loom over the story. In one version of the manuscript, Anna’s father is a wise werewolf. In another, he is a cruel vampire prince.

The female characters are foils and antagonists to the heroine. Anna feels judged by her childhood friends: they’ve been “acting moody and unpredictable,” she narrates in one draft. “I felt constantly on edge with them.” At home, the most dramatic conflicts unfold between Anna and her mother, Marcheline, who can be warm and loving but also “controlling,” “obsessive,” “crazed,” and occasionally violent. “It’s like M is schizophrenic with her,” Freeman wrote in one e-mail to Kim, after they had already been going back and forth about the manuscript for six months. “Nice one moment and shredding her ego to bits in the next.”

Part of the reason Freeman was drawn to Kim as an agent, at least initially, was that she seemed to respect the uniqueness of Freeman’s vision. According to Freeman, Kim praised her unusual writing voice, which blended dreamlike imagery with wry humor. (“The moon is full overhead, pregnant with possibilities and none of them good.”) Kim loved the dramatic setting. They spoke on the phone for hours, Freeman says, with Freeman explaining her inspirations, her family and personal life, and her plans for a larger series based on “Blue Moon Rising.” In Freeman’s recollection, Kim would often say that she didn’t have such lengthy or intimate conversations with her other clients. (Kim denies saying this and does not recall any extensive conversations about Freeman’s personal life.)

Freeman was eager to respond to Kim’s suggestions. Kim wanted to see more strength and agency in Anna, the heroine, and Freeman revised the manuscript so that Anna went to greater and greater lengths to rescue her werewolf mate. She produced copious notes, chapter synopses, and character descriptions for Kim; she wrote pitches and taglines and letters for Kim to send to editors. Throughout, she says, Kim insisted that the manuscript was close to being ready. In one e-mail, from June, 2011, Kim wrote, “You’ve been a real pro throughout this revision process so I’d figure you’d want to really wade in those final slogging steps and be rewarded with true greatness!”

But, as the months dragged on, Freeman’s hopes began to wilt. No matter how many times she renovated the main arc, developed a subplot here, updated the lore there, she couldn’t bring the book to where Kim said it needed to be. She believes that she sent her agent at least forty meaningfully different versions of her manuscript. She started to refer to Kim’s edits as “the hydra,” an allusion to the many-headed monster that sprouted two new heads every time one was chopped off.

In September of 2013, Freeman sent Kim a fresh synopsis of her novel. The agent replied in a tone she hadn’t previously used. “My comments don’t always seem to lead your book to the next level,” she wrote. “I really think you owe it to yourself to be really certain you are putting the best book out there.” At the end of the message, she wrote, “I know this email is long and perhaps long overdue. You deserve honesty from me above all else. . . . But the bottom line is you need to move forward and I need to move forward too.”

In Kim’s recollection, Freeman took up less time than some of her other authors—she remembers that Freeman was juggling work and other commitments—but Kim did try to make Freeman feel valued. “Looking back, I feel very proud of the work that I did with her,” Kim told me. “So having that thrown back in my face is very sad,” she said. When we spoke, she stressed that she values “each and every one of my authors so much that it’s just so painful to think that anyone would think that I would do this to them.”

Wolff and Kim were close. Kim’s daughter, Eden, was one of “Crave” ’s first readers, and Wolff named a character Eden in gratitude. Kim’s contributions to the “Crave” series sometimes extended beyond the traditional work of even a very hands-on agent. She helped to create the project’s “bible,” a compilation of names, backstories, and details that Wolff used to keep tabs on Grace’s expansive universe. She proposed plot points: What if two witch characters “are just texting”? What if the magical portals malfunctioned? When Wolff was on deadline for “Court,” Kim sat in a Google Doc with her for nineteen hours, allegedly to provide moral support. “I want to help you rage finish the rest of this book,” she texted on October 24, 2021. Then she suggested that they get coffee “and crash it out.”

Kim didn’t always evince this level of enthusiasm for Freeman. On October 10, 2013, Kim pitched “Blue Moon Rising” to Liz Pelletier, addressing the Entangled publisher as “Lynne.” The language feels boilerplate and impersonal. “If you are looking for something unique in young adult paranormal romance,” Kim wrote, “this is something I think would be a perfect fit for you!” Pelletier forwarded the pitch—without reading it, she claims—to Stacy Abrams, who requested the full manuscript on October 18th. Kim replied on October 23rd. “Hi Stacy,” she wrote. “Sorry for the delay. Here you go! And aren’t you happy about Tracy? I am!” Abrams agreed that she was happy about Tracy, whose new Entangled book was doing well. She also gently noted that Kim had forgotten to attach Freeman’s novel to her e-mail.

An effective romantasy novel conveys the experience of falling in love, but it also touches on themes of talent and purpose, of becoming who you were meant to be. A girl is ordinary and then she is chosen. Her destiny is to wield power beyond imagination. A cold, hard man turns malleable in her hands. Those who dislike her are jealous, those who disagree with her are evil, and those who try to stop her are vanquished—righteously.

A decade or so ago, Y.A. readers telegraphed their fandom by affiliating with types. They picked a Hogwarts house or a Divergent faction to identify with; they declared for Team Edward (the vampire in “Twilight”) or Team Jacob (the werewolf). But romantasy novels are more character-driven, and readers approach them more individualistically. They come to the genre concerned about their own place in the world. “A really good writer makes you feel like a book is about you,” Kim told me. She suggested that maybe Wolff had performed her job too well: Freeman looked into the “Crave” series and encountered her own reflection.

A paradox of romantasy novels is that they express the longing to be unique, but they pour that desire into imitative forms. Many of the genre’s tropes are clichés about specialness. When the heroine is discovered to be secret royalty or the chosen one, readers feel singular, like they are the main character. Both Wolff and Freeman emphasized to me the deeply intimate experiences that fed into their books—falling in love, becoming a mother, struggling to accept the loss of a parent. They lived their tropes. Wolff, a contemporary romance writer who dove gamely into vamps-and-shifter lore, was the normal girl in an alien new world. Freeman was the lost child with an attunement to nature who comes into her power. Maybe these experiences were universal, but they were also personal. If it happened to you, how could it not be yours?

But life isn’t a romantasy novel. For every Sarah J. Maas, there are thousands of first-time or self-published writers toiling away in obscurity. The promise of the genre is transformation—reality into fiction, vulnerability into strength, humans into animals, ordinariness into distinction—but the labor of producing romantasy rarely changes your life. Some authors get picked, and many more do not. The outcomes can feel especially arbitrary when everyone is telling more or less the same story.

The defendants fear that the suit may embolden bad actors to weaponize copyright law against talented and successful authors. Pelletier cautioned that she could see why I might be drawn to a salacious tale of betrayal, but that the real story of the lawsuit was the threat posed by fencing off the creative commons, discouraging writers from crafting their own narratives of alluring monsters or forbidden love. She spoke about a “well” of shared ideas, imagery, and language that irrigates our cultural life and enables our traditions to morph and evolve. “You can’t claim ownership to the well,” she said. “It will stifle everyone’s creativity.” Referring to Freeman, Pelletier added, “She doesn’t own heroes in black jeans, as much as she would like to.”

Black told me, “It’s just true that there are enough things being written, when you’re working with tropes and tradition and folklore, that sometimes you hit some of the same things.” But she dismissed Pelletier’s anxieties about repercussions from the coming verdict, saying, “I don’t think it’s going to create some kind of new standard.” Trout likewise warned against extrapolating too much from a sui-generis situation. “The case with ‘Crave’ and ‘Blue Moon Rising’ is not simply about tropes,” she said. “The books are too similar.”

The defense is right that no one could mistake the experience of reading “Crave” for the experience of reading “Blue Moon Rising.” Wolff’s story is sassy, fun, commercial, and hot. Freeman’s is raw, ruminative, interior, and possibly unsalable, given the murky volatility of the family dynamics and the protagonist’s wariness, bordering on hostility, toward other women. What is strange and spiky in one is palatable and familiar in the other. Freeman strews esoteric asides about Egyptian mythology, Captain Cook, and the passage of Celtic artifacts from New Zealand to Alaska, which have no counterpart in the “Crave” series. (Instead, there are the singer-songwriter Niall Horan, Restoration Hardware catalogues, “Final Destination.”) The mysticism that pervades “Blue Moon Rising” is muted in Wolff’s novels. The sense of phantasmagoria and unreality is gone. Many of the details that overlap are tropes, or close enough. Many more are trivial: the color of a character’s eyes, the title—such as “Bloodletter”—by which she is known.

But the preponderance of commonalities and the sum of how they unfold is harder to discount. Wolff said that she’d been “completely blindsided” and “devastated” by Freeman’s accusations, and that she “hurt for everybody involved in this case.” “I didn’t do what I’m accused of,” she said. Freeman, who has sold her home in Alaska to pay her legal costs, told me that she was fighting in part because she no longer saw herself as unique. “If this can happen to me,” she said, “it could happen to somebody else.” ♦

I admit I always find it funny when people whose entire business is media give on-the-record quotes that sound this much like the villain of a movie about hosting a charity talent show to save the beloved local library.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[pedroscurls]

his girl (one-shot)

summary: logan didn't think he'd ever get a second chance at making his life matter nor did he think he even deserved it... but then he met you. his girl.

pairing: logan howlett [worst wolverine] x fem!reader content warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), light angst (mentions of death, logan has some insecurities - doesn't believe he deserves you 🥺), all the fluff!, no use of y/n. word count: 1.4k a/n: part of KLLOVEUARY 2025 challenge hosted by @lubdubology and @yxtkiwiyxt ♥️. this song and this character just fits so well and i'm so glad that i chose option 2. at first, i didn't know which route i wanted to take, but let's be honest... worst wolverine has to have some bit of angst right? hope y'all enjoy - i had a blast writing this! thank you kiwi and kristen for hosting this challenge <3 song: my girl by the temptations

Logan had met you over about six months ago when you moved in across the hall. He bumped into you on his way out one morning and you had looked at him with the most gentle and inviting eyes that simply radiated warmth. Even when you smiled at him, he couldn’t help but notice the way the corners of your eyes crinkled. Under your gaze, he felt protected, felt safe, felt at peace. You looked at him like he was the only person in the world, like no one else mattered. 

And if he’s being honest with himself, he didn’t like feeling this way. How his heart began to race even faster just at the mere sight of your eyes meeting his. Or how he felt this sudden urge to get to know you, to make you his. 

Even though he’s been in this universe for a year now, it still feels so new to him and he’s still battling with himself whether or not he belongs here, but you… You gave him hope. 

Something that he thought he lost a long time ago. 

And even now, you still look at him with the same kind eyes and he still feels that same warmth radiate through his entire body. There’s a sparkle in your eye whenever you gaze at him and even during Wade’s family dinner parties, you always make an effort to make sure that he knows you see him. 

Tonight is no different, though. Wade’s entertaining his guests and Logan's sitting on the couch with a beer in hand while you speak with Vanessa. Even through your conversation with her, your eyes flit over to Logan’s who keeps his gaze on you. It makes you blush, the way his eyes make you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You both give each other a small smile before looking away. 

“How about some music, hm?” Vanessa says, leading you towards the music player and pressing play. She smiles instantly, arms raising up in the air as her body sways to the beat of the song.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

Slowly, you dare to look at Logan who’s already looking at you. You can see the way his hand grips the neck of the beer bottle, unbothered by Wade and Vanessa who begin to dance in the middle of the living room among the other guests he has over. Instead, he’s staring at you as you lean against the wall. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

Logan sees the corners of your lips turn upwards, sees the crinkles at the corner of your eyes begin to form, and he can feel his heart pounding in his chest. Everyone else seems to fade in the background until all he can see is you. His girl. 

I've got so much honey, the bees envy me I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees Well, I guess you'd say What can make me feel this way?

You bite your lower lip and turn on your heel, disappearing down the dim-lit hallway. Logan sets his beer on the coffee table before he begins making his way to you. For once, he doesn’t want to hide the way he’s feeling. You give him hope, give him the confidence he never knew he had. He gently reaches out for you and you turn around, eyes gazing up at him. Logan lets out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. You stare up at him, the song filtering down the hallway you both are standing in as he gently reaches up to tuck a few fallen strands of hair behind your ear. His mouth parts when he feels you lean into his touch. 

“Were you gonna stand in that corner all night starin’ at me, bub?” he whispers quietly, loud enough for only you to hear. 

“I’d stand there all night waiting for you, Logan,” you respond. You part your own lips, feeling his thumb shakily brush along your lower lip. “I think we both know that.”

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

“You realize what you do to me?” he asks. “The way you look at me…” Logan steps closer to you when he feels your own hand move to his chest, nimble fingers playing with the buttons. “I’m not a good man, bub. I’m the–”

“Worst Wolverine,” you finish for him. “Yeah, I know. You and Wade like to remind me.” 

“It’s true.” 

“All I see is a man who’s trying to make things better,” you reply. “Trying to make his life better with the second chance he’s been given.” 

“I don’t deserve you,” he sighs, eyes and hand dropping momentarily.

“That your opinion?” 

“Just statin’ facts, sweetheart.” 

Then, he lets out a quiet gasp when he feels your hand come up to rest on his cheek. He looks at you, his eyes searching your own. Logan feels his pulse quicken at your touch—the way your thumb brushes across his jawline, soft and delicate, tender and light, gentle and grounding. 

He shuts his eyes and for a moment, all he can see are the people he failed in his old universe—dead and all because of him. It shakes him to his core; he can’t run away from his past, can’t run away from the terrible things he’s done. 

But then you say his name and it brings him back to reality. It dispels all of the inner demons that always keeps him up at night. He no longer sees his old universe. All he can see, all he can feel is you. 

“Logan,” you repeat quietly. 

When he opens his eyes, he’s greeted with your own. So kind and warm, soft and inviting. You were his peace. You were his second chance. 

You were his girl. 

“Yeah, bub?” he finally answers, voice shaky. 

“You’ve got me,” you whisper. “You’ll always have me.” 

“But–”

You shake your head and click your tongue, interrupting him. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

He lets out a breath and slowly leans forward until his forehead lightly touches your own. He brushes his nose against your own as he hears you inhale sharply. Slowly, Logan’s arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against him as your arms wrap around his shoulders. He feels safe—here in your arms, is where he belongs. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

The song continues as both you and Logan stare into each other’s eyes, swaying side to side in each other’s arms. His eyes fall shut briefly when he feels your lips press against his cheek and his hold on you tightens even further. Nothing and no one else mattered. All he needed was you. All he ever needed was you.

His girl. 

Logan pulls back to look down at you, lips inches from each other. You lean in slowly, hands playing with the hair at his nape. 

Until Wade turns on the light to the hallway and begins clapping loudly, breaking you and Logan out of the moment.

“Fucking finally!” he exclaims with a grin. “Told y’all it would work. Am I the best cupid or what?”

Logan keeps his arm around you as he looks at Wade from the end of the hallway. He narrows his eyes and then glances down in your direction. You’re smiling, lower lip pulled between your teeth as you bury your face against the side of his neck. His own lips form into a small smile and he gently presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

“Wanna get outta here?” he whispers into your ear. 

“I hear my apartment is not that far from here,” you tease. 

Logan smiles. “Lead the way, baby.” 

You take his hand, lace your fingers with his own immediately, and lead him down the hallway past Wade and towards the front door. Logan looks at Wade and gives him one nod—an unspoken gesture of gratitude that has Wade jumping up and down in excitement. 

When you both finally leave Wade’s apartment to go to your own across the hall, Wade lets out a contented sigh and brings his hands to his chest. “I just love love.” 

And Logan can’t help but keep you close to him, the song playing on repeat in his mind. 

My girl, my girl, my girl Talkin' 'bout my girl, my girl

[ye4gerz]

my game, your rules. — ldh part three (FINAL)

‧˚⭒ pairing: lee donghyuck x afab reader 18+MDNI ‧˚⭒ genre: brothers best friend au! fake dating! friends to lovers! humor! fluff! angst! smut! adult life au! jenos sister! flirty hc! ‧˚⭒ word count: 11k+ ‧˚⭒ cw: the beginning part is mostly angst, sorry! smut towards the end. dirty talking, raw sex, choking, etc. drinking, mentions of jaehyun, dom hc. ‧˚⭒ summary: you’re fed up with your family constantly telling you how to live your life, but what would they think if you showed up with your brother’s best friend as your new boyfriend? even worse—what happens when you realize you’re actually falling for him?

‧˚⭒ a/n: thank you for the wait everyone! i realized due to my personal life being so busy sometimes, i’m prob better off sticking to long one shots lmao. sorry i had to end it short at three parts. i'll be working on another one shot soon, thank you to everyone who engaged with the series, enjoy! (ignore any grammatical errors if any)

previous

It was one thing to pretend to be with your brother’s best friend, and another to actually be with your brother’s best friend, but what do you call it when the best friend you’re fake dating starts to feel… real?

You guessed it was whatever complicated, undefined thing you had going on with Haechan right now.

It had been several nights since the first time you’d slept together, and somehow, it had slipped into your routine without much discussion. Every evening, he was there—waiting outside your job to pick you up, a sly grin on his face as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Days and nights repeated like clockwork, neither of you acknowledging the shift, as if naming it would make it too real. Instead, you both just… enjoyed it.

“Fine, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

Your own words replayed in your mind endlessly, and you found yourself wishing they had been a promise instead of an empty phrase, left to dissolve into the early hours of the day.

Yet, even without a label, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. Your stress was melting away bit by bit, the weight of work no longer consuming you like it used to. For the first time in what felt like forever, you were beginning to understand the elusive concept of a work-life balance.

As you stood in front of the mirror, your gaze traveled over your reflection. Love bites peppered your skin, faint but impossible to ignore. Each one held a memory, moments you couldn’t help but replay in your head. You smiled softly, warmth spreading through you at the thought of him.

You missed him already.

“What’s taking so long?” Karina’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, followed by a series of impatient knocks on the bathroom door.

“Sorry!” you called back, hurriedly finishing your last-minute outfit adjustments. “I’m coming out now!”

Tonight was girls night—a night you’d promised yourself would be nothing but fun, but as you opened the door and met Karina’s scrutinizing gaze, you couldn’t help but wonder how much of the night your thoughts would linger on Haechan.

“Impatient much?” you teased Karina as you slipped on your earrings.

“It’s been forever since it’s just been the two of us,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “I swear, I should sue Haechan for stealing you away from me.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “No need to worry. Tomorrow’s the night he meets my family, and soon after, our ‘relationship’”—you emphasized with air quotes—“will officially be over. I get my peace, and they get to meet someone who isn’t you for once.”

Karina leaned against the doorframe, her sharp gaze raking over you like she was trying to read between the lines. “You’re not convincing me,” she said, raising a brow. “Do you think you can hide those marks? Please, you two are so deep in denial it’s almost painful to watch.”

Her words hit like a sucker punch, and you fumbled for a response. It had nothing to do with your best friend, but all with the fact that Haechan has been a bit distant today. You didn’t want to flood your thoughts with worry, but the intensity of your underlying feelings were too much to ignore. Instead of addressing the comment, you busied yourself with adjusting the strap on your heels, your eyes glued to the floor. “Like I said, it’ll be ending soon. Can we not talk about him right now?”

Karina frowned but didn’t push further, though her knowing expression didn’t go unnoticed.

Meanwhile, across town, Haechan sat on his couch, the glow of his phone illuminating his frustrated expression. He knew you were going out with Karina tonight—you’d told him—but something about it gnawed at him. He hadn’t responded to your last text, and even when he did, it took hours because every reply felt like walking a tightrope.

The thought of you at a club, surrounded by strangers, without him, it sent his mind spiraling. What if some guy tried something? Worse, what if you met someone—someone you actually liked—and decided to drop this whole fake relationship?

“Would that be cheating?” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “Yes—no—shit.”

This wasn’t real. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself; every lingering glance, every stolen moment, and every kiss that left him breathless felt all too real. The weight of unspoken feelings hung between you both like a thread threatening to snap. He turned his phone off and on again, trying to distract himself, but the pull you had on him was intoxicating, inescapable.

Back at your apartment, Karina softened, rubbing your back in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s not my place to bring up your love life. Let’s just go have fun tonight, okay? Who knows, maybe we’ll both go home with someone new.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood made you smile despite yourself. “Yeah, let’s just have fun,” you echoed, grabbing your purse and heading for the door.

Even as you walked out with Karina, a small part of you wondered if Haechan was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him.

Meanwhile, Haechan logged online with Jeno, hoping a few rounds of gaming would help clear his mind. However, playing with your brother, of all people, might not have been the smartest way to distract himself.

“So, are you nervous about tomorrow night?” Jeno asked as they waited for the game to load.

“Not really,” Haechan replied honestly. “I’ve met your parents before. They’re nice people.”

Jeno adjusted his mic. “Yeah, but you’ve met them as my friend. You’ve never met them as my sister’s boyfriend. Not to mention, it’s the first time she’s bringing someone home.”

Haechan shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the weight of Jeno’s words sinking in. The idea of meeting your parents in this new role suddenly felt a lot heavier than it had before.

He had pitched this whole fake dating idea to help you out, to make your life easier during a time when you needed it most. He’d told himself that was all it was. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t just that anymore. Somewhere along the way, the lies stopped feeling like lies.

The hand-holding wasn’t just for show. The playful teasing, the lingering touches, the way his chest tightened whenever you smiled at him—it had all become painfully real. With each passing day, the guilt of keeping this from Jeno gnawed at him more.

He thought back to one of the nights you’d slept over. You’d fallen asleep in his arms, your breathing soft and even, while he stayed awake, unable to tear his eyes away from you. His gaze had traced the curve of your cheek, the way your lashes fanned out against your skin. Without thinking, he’d leaned closer, pressing a ghost of a kiss to your hair.

This had become his new normal—holding you, being with you. Every time he thought about what came next, a deep ache settled in his chest. What if this all ended? What if he lost you?

“Hello? You good?” Jeno’s voice broke through his thoughts, dragging him back to the present.

“Yeah, my fault,” Haechan muttered, fumbling with his keyboard. “Um… yeah, I guess I am nervous— but you’ll be there too, so not much to worry about, right?”

“Exactly, bro,” Jeno said, his tone light. “You’ve got this. Now, focus up—I’m getting mobbed over here!”

Haechan managed a small laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “On it,” he replied, diving into the game.

As the action picked up, his thoughts remained elsewhere. His grip tightened on the mouse, his chest heavy with the weight of his own emotions. This was going to be a long night.

Three shots in, and you were already feeling it. You’d never been one to hold your alcohol well. While you weren’t completely gone, you were definitely teetering on the edge of tipsy and drunk. The music thumped through the club, vibrating in your chest, and the dim lighting made it easy to lose yourself in the atmosphere.

“There’s my girl! Look at you having a good time!” Karina cheered, hyping you up as you squeezed the life out of a lemon wedge after your latest shot.

You coughed, shaking your head with a laugh. “I’m getting there, that’s for sure.”

Karina plopped down on the barstool beside you, resting her chin in her hand as she watched you with a fond expression. “Not to kill the buzz or anything, but do you think you’re ready to talk about what’s been weighing on you? I can tell you’ve got something on your chest, and you won’t fully let loose until you do.”

You hesitated, your eyes drifting to the crowd behind her. That’s when you spotted him—a man dressed clean and sharp, head to toe. His neatly parted black hair framed deep, unreadable eyes, and they were locked on you. Feeling a strange flutter of nerves, you quickly shook it off, turning back to Karina as you fidgeted with the rim of your shot glass.

“I guess it’s no secret that Haechan and I have been… kind of together? I don’t really know what to call it.” You sighed, glancing at her. “I mean, yeah, we’re supposed to be pretending, but lately, it’s felt a lot more serious. No matter how much we try to keep it casual, we just keep getting pulled toward each other— and sleeping together? That’s only made it worse.”

Karina’s brow arched slightly, but she stayed silent, letting you continue.

“I’m scared this is all Haechan wants,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “What if I’m just something to pass the time? I’m too afraid to bring it up because if I’m wrong, and I read this all wrong… what then? What if I ruin everything, and he rejects me for real? That would be awkward as hell.”

Karina’s wide eyes softened, and she reached out to rub your back. “Wow. Yeah, that’s a lot to carry around. No wonder you’ve been so tense,” she said gently. “But listen, you’ve got to talk to him. Tell him exactly what you just told me. If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know you tried—and hey, this whole thing has already benefited you in some ways, right? Don’t feel guilty for walking away if that’s what you decide to do. You’re not actually together, so you don’t owe anyone anything. You can do what’s best for you.”

Her words brought some comfort, and you smiled at her, feeling a flicker of gratitude. Before you could respond, the bartender approached, placing a tall margarita with a cherry on top in front of you.

“A gentleman paid for your drink and the next few shots for you two,” he explained.

“What the hell…” Karina whispered, scanning the room with wide eyes.

Your gaze followed hers until it landed on the same man from earlier. He was making his way toward you now, a confident stride and a charming smile revealing deep dimples.

“Hello, ladies,” he greeted smoothly, his voice rich and warm.

“Well, hello, handsome,” Karina replied, nudging your leg under the bar as she batted her lashes.

His smile lingered, but his eyes moved to yours, the anticipation in them unmistakable. “I’m Jaehyun,” he introduced himself, “I just wanted to say you both look absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Thank you, Jaehyun! We appreciate that, don’t we?” Karina said, looking at you expectantly.

You hesitated before giving him your name, your voice quieter than you intended. His reaction caught you off guard—he took your hand and kissed it lightly. “Wonderful to meet you,” he said, his smile deepening. “I’ll let you get back to your conversation, but if you’d like to have a good time together, well—this is for you.”

As he walked off, Karina grabbed your arm. “Wow! Talk about dreamy! What did he give you?”

You unfolded the napkin he’d placed in your hand, already knowing what to expect. Inside was a neat scrawl: In case you need another shoulder to lean on ;) – J followed by his number.

You rolled your eyes. “Great. Just what I needed.”

Karina laughed, shaking her head. “If you’re not going to use it, you can pass it my way!”

“No way,” you said firmly. “I don’t need the reminder of this awkward interaction if you end up hooking up with him.” Stuffing the napkin into your purse, you resolved to toss it later.

“Fine, but that’s a major loss,” she teased. “How about this instead: we finish our free drinks, grab something sweet to eat, and call it a night?”

You smiled at her sincerity. “Sounds like a plan.”

The plan, however, turned out to be a little hazier than expected. Jaehyun had paid for more shots than you realized, and by the time you left the club, you and Karina were beyond tipsy, stumbling into an Uber together.

After dropping Karina off safely, you found yourself standing in front of Haechan’s building instead of your own. Buzzing his apartment repeatedly, you chuckled loudly into the intercom when his tired, slightly annoyed voice answered.

“May I ask who’s obliterating my buzzer at this hour?”

“It’s meeee!” you said through a fit of giggles.

There was a pause, and then the door buzzed open. Moments later, Haechan met you in the hallway, his arms crossed as he watched you nearly trip over your own feet.

“Someone had fun tonight, I see,” he teased, shaking his head as he walked over to steady you.

You clutched onto his shirt, looking up at him with glassy eyes. “Can’t have fun when I’m missing you so much,” you mumbled.

His teasing grin softened into something gentler, and he wrapped an arm around you, guiding you to his apartment. Once inside, he carefully sat you on the edge of his bed, rummaging through his drawers for some comfortable clothes for you to change into.

Haechan gently changed your clothes for you, his touch careful and deliberate. Using the makeup remover wipes you’d left at his place over the past few weeks, he softly cleaned your face, wary of being too rough as he worked around your features.

“Let me grab you some water, okay? Just get comfortable,” he said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You nodded sleepily, sinking into the pillows as he disappeared into the kitchen.

Your gaze wandered across the room, catching the faint glow from his gaming monitor. A small smile tugged at your lips as you pictured him sitting there, completely immersed in a match, his focused expression etched in your memory. You reached toward the side table, expecting to find your phone, only to remember it was still in your purse.

“Hyuckieeee!” you called, raising your voice as much as your drunk tired state allowed. “Can you bring me my phone, pleaseeee? It’s in my purse!”

“Yes, ma’am!” he replied, his voice light and playful.

In the kitchen, Haechan grabbed a glass of water before reaching for your purse. As he rummaged through it to find your phone, a folded napkin clung to the device, slipping free and floating to the floor. He bent to pick it up, expecting it to be nothing—but then his eyes caught the scrawled handwriting.

In case you need another shoulder to lean on ;) – J xxx-xxx-xxxx.

His playful smile vanished instantly. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. For a moment, he stood frozen, blinking at the napkin as though he could force the words to change.

Who the hell was J? Why did you have his number? And why the hell did he feel like the ground beneath him was starting to crumble?

“Hyuccccck!” your voice whined from the other room, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

His heart pounded as he shoved the napkin back into your purse, burying it as deep as he could. Grabbing your phone, he forced himself to compose his expression before walking back into the bedroom.

“Here,” he said, his voice a little too quiet as he handed you your phone and set the glass of water on the nightstand.

You barely noticed the change in his demeanor, already distracted as you unlocked your phone. Haechan, however, didn’t linger. He walked to his desk, muttered a quick goodnight to Jeno—completely ignoring whatever your brother was saying—and shut down his computer.

“W-Wait!” you called after him, frowning when you realized he was heading toward the door. “You’re not staying?”

He paused, his back to you. “You’ve had a long night, and tomorrow’s going to be even longer,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. “You need sleep, and I can’t afford for you to get distracted.”

The coldness in his tone made you sit up slightly, confused. “Hyuck—”

“I’ll take the couch,” he interrupted, not turning around. “I’ll drive you home in the morning. Goodnight.”

Before you could respond, he flicked off the light and shut the door behind him.

You blinked at the closed door, baffled by his sudden shift. However, the exhaustion weighed heavy on your body, and soon enough, your head hit the pillow, pulling you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile, Haechan sat on the couch, your purse on the table in front of him like it was mocking him. His mind raced, replaying every moment of the night and every possibility of what that napkin could mean.

His jaw clenched as a wave of jealousy surged through him, mingling with something deeper—something more vulnerable. Was this all a game to you? A distraction? Did this J mean more to you than he did?

Haechan leaned back, staring at the ceiling with a heaviness in his chest he couldn’t shake. Tomorrow was supposed to be the big day—the day he met your parents—but now he wasn’t so sure he could go through with it.

The couch was uncomfortable, but that wasn’t the problem. You were just down the hall, sound asleep in his bed, yet Haechan couldn’t close his eyes for more than a few seconds before they snapped back open.

Your purse sat on the coffee table like it was taunting him, the folded napkin inside feeling heavier than it had any right to. He rubbed his hands over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh as he leaned back against the couch cushions.

It wasn’t real. That’s what he kept reminding himself. You weren’t really his girlfriend, so why did the idea of someone else trying to be with you twist something so raw inside of him?

He replayed the events of the night, the way you had stumbled into his arms at the door, laughing and clinging to him like he was your safe haven. The way you’d told him you missed him—it echoed in his head, warm and sweet, and he had wanted to believe it.

Then he’d seen the napkin.

In case you need another shoulder to lean on.

The words looped in his mind like a curse. He sat up, staring at the purse again, his jaw tightening. Who was this J? Why did you have his number?

You had been with Karina, sure, but what if this guy was someone you’d met at the club? What if he’d been the one to buy you drinks, to make you laugh, to look at you in a way that Haechan foolishly thought only he did?

His fists clenched at the thought, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to push the images out of his head. He had no right to feel this way, he told himself. You weren’t his. Not really.

The idea of you leaning on someone else, laughing with someone else, kissing someone else—it made his stomach churn.

The minutes turned to hours, and the city outside the window grew quieter, yet his mind stayed restless.

He thought back to the times you’d spent together recently. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him, the way your fingers would brush against his as if it were second nature. The quiet moments after the fake laughter, when it felt like everything between you wasn’t fake at all.

Could he have imagined it all? Were the feelings one-sided?

He threw himself back against the couch, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe this was what he deserved. Maybe this was the fallout of blurring the lines, of letting his heart get tangled in something that was never supposed to be real.

Then he thought about tomorrow—or rather, tonight. Meeting your family as your boyfriend. Pretending to be yours in front of the people who mattered most to you. The thought had filled him with nerves before, but now it felt unbearable. How was he supposed to stand there, play the part, when he didn’t even know where he stood with you?

His eyes drifted back to the purse again. It was a small thing, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, yet it felt monumental. That napkin had shattered whatever fragile understanding he thought you shared, leaving him questioning everything.

As the first rays of sunlight began to creep through the window, Haechan sighed deeply, running a hand over his face. His body was heavy with exhaustion, but his mind refused to let him rest.

One thing was certain—if he didn’t get answers soon, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending.

The faint scent of coffee and something savory woke you first. You blinked groggily, your head heavy and your body sluggish as you turned toward the nightstand. There, beside a glass of water, was a small bottle of Tylenol waiting for you.

The gesture brought a soft smile to your lips. Even after nights like this, he always took care of you.

Rubbing your temples, you sat up slowly, the ache in your head reminding you of last night’s drinks. The apartment was quiet, save for the faint clinking of dishes coming from the kitchen. Pushing yourself out of bed, you shuffled toward the source of the noise, following the smell of breakfast.

When you stepped into the kitchen, he was already there, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug in hand. A plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon sat on the countertop, clearly made for you.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice scratchy from sleep as you pulled out a stool.

He barely glanced at you, taking a sip of his coffee before setting the mug down with a soft clink. “Eat up,” he said flatly, his tone devoid of its usual warmth. “You’re probably hungover.”

The coldness in his voice made you pause. You looked at him carefully, noting the stiffness in his posture, the way his eyes refused to meet yours.

“Thanks,” you said hesitantly, sitting down and picking at the food. You watched him from the corner of your eye, trying to gauge his mood.

When the silence stretched too long, you finally spoke. “Are you okay? You seem… off.”

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly, too quickly.

“You don’t seem fine,” you pressed, setting your fork down. “Did something happen last night?”

He let out a sharp breath through his nose, finally looking at you. His expression was guarded, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—hurt, frustration, something he wasn’t saying.

“I’ll start getting ready,” he said abruptly, brushing past your question. “You should eat and get some rest when you get home. We’ve got that big dinner tonight.”

You reached out instinctively, your fingers brushing against his arm to stop him, but he yanked it back before you could get a firm hold.

The motion was reflexive, but it felt like a slap. The shock of it lingered in the air between you, and you froze, your hand hanging in the space he’d just pulled away from.

“Did you just pull away from me…” your voice trailed off, your words caught somewhere between disbelief and hurt.

“I didn’t mean—” he started, his voice sharper than he intended. When he saw the look on your face, he cut himself off, turning away from you entirely.

“No, talk to me,” you said, standing now. The frustration bubbled up in your chest, and you didn’t care if your head was pounding or if your voice cracked. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been weird since last night. Did I do something?”

He clenched his fists at his sides, his shoulders rigid. “It’s nothing. Just drop it, okay?”

“Nothing?” you echoed incredulously, stepping closer. “You won’t look at me, you won’t talk to me, and now you’re pulling away like I did something wrong. If it’s nothing, then why are you acting like this?”

“Because I’m tired!” he snapped, spinning around to face you. His voice was sharp, the anger in his tone startling you; but beneath it, you heard the cracks, the weight of something deeper. “I’m tired, okay? Of this, of pretending, of…” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as if trying to physically push the words back down.

“Of what?” you pressed softly, your heart thudding in your chest.

His jaw clenched, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “I just think you should go home, get some rest, and be ready for dinner tonight. That’s it.”

You stared at him, frustration and confusion swirling in your chest. He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t explain himself, and the distance he was putting between you felt suffocating.

“Fine,” you said quietly, the word laced with hurt. “If you want to push me away, then that’s on you.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t look up, didn’t move as you turned on your heel and headed back toward the bedroom to grab your remaining belongings. The door clicked shut behind you, and for a moment, all you could hear was the pounding in your head and the ache growing in your chest.

Whatever was going on, whatever he was holding back—it felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Meanwhile, he stood frozen in the kitchen, staring at the spot where you’d just been. His chest felt heavy, and the words he hadn’t said echoed in his mind, louder than anything else.

You stormed out of his room, grabbing your things with shaky hands, your chest tight with frustration and hurt. The air between you had been tense and suffocating, and you couldn’t stay another second in that apartment.

“Wait—” he called after you, his voice laced with urgency.

“I don’t need a ride home, and I don’t need a pity breakfast,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended as you reached the door. You turned back for a moment, your heart aching but your pride keeping you standing tall. “I’ll see you tonight, and then after that, whatever this is will be officially done.”

Before he could respond, you slammed the door shut behind you, the sound reverberating through the hallway.

The cold morning air hit your face as you made your way home on foot, each step heavy with unspoken emotions. The weight of everything pressed down on you, but you pushed through, your pace quickening as if moving faster would stop the thoughts from racing in your head.

When you finally reached your apartment, your hands were trembling as you unlocked the door. Once inside, the silence of your room felt deafening. You tossed your bag to the side and collapsed onto your bed, the weight of the morning and everything leading up to it crashing over you.

And then, it all came out.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and relentless as you buried your face in your pillow. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, and no matter how much you tried to quiet yourself, the sobs broke free, filling the room.

The sound must have carried through the walls because moments later, a soft knock came at your door.

“Hey,” Jeno’s voice called through the wood, cautious and concerned. “Are you okay? Can I come in?”

You froze, your breath hitching as you quickly wiped at your face, trying to compose yourself. “I’m fine,” you croaked, but your shaky voice betrayed you.

“Please,” Jeno insisted, the worry in his tone clear. “Let me in.”

Reluctantly, you reached over and unlocked the door. Jeno pushed it open gently, stepping inside and closing it behind him. His eyes immediately found you on the bed, your tear-streaked face buried in your hands.

“Hey,” he said softly, walking over and sitting at the edge of your bed. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

You hesitated, your throat tightening as you tried to find the words. “I… I don’t know if we should even do the dinner tonight,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Jeno frowned, tilting his head in confusion. “Why not? What happened?”

You swallowed hard, debating how much to tell him. For a moment, you considered brushing it off, but the weight of everything you’d been holding inside was too much.

“I—” you started, hesitating before letting out a shaky breath. “I need to tell you the truth about something.”

Jeno’s brows furrowed, his expression soft but cautious. “Okay… I’m listening.”

You sat up slowly, wrapping your arms around your knees. “Haechan and I… we’re not really dating,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, letting you continue.

“We started fake dating because you and Mom and Dad wouldn’t get off my back about finding someone. I thought it would just be for a while, to take the pressure off, but…” Your voice cracked, and you rubbed at your face, frustrated with yourself.

“But what?” Jeno pressed gently.

“I fell for him,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t know when it happened, but it’s not fake for me anymore. Now he’s barely talking to me, and I don’t know what I did wrong or what’s going on in his head. I feel like I ruined everything.”

Jeno stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he let out a sigh and reached over, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice full of genuine regret. “I didn’t realize how much pressure we were putting on you. I never meant to push you into something like this.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, the warmth of his embrace soothing some of the ache in your chest.

“I think you need to talk to him,” Jeno said after a moment, pulling back slightly to look at you. “You’re never going to get answers if you don’t. If he doesn’t feel the same way, that’s on him, not you. You were just trying to protect yourself, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“What if it makes things worse?” you asked, your voice small.

“Then we deal with it together—or not at all,” Jeno said firmly. “But you deserve to know the truth. Don’t let him leave you in the dark.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his words sinking in.

“What about me moving out and finding someone? Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what Mom and Dad want? To push me out?” you scoff, the words spilling out as your mind flashes back to the way Haechan pushed you away earlier.

Jeno’s reaction is immediate, his tone sharp with hurt. “What are you talking about? You think that’s what this is about? That I want to kick you out?”

You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you nod slowly, wiping the tears off your cheeks with trembling hands.

Jeno starts to say something but stops, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath as he forces himself to calm down. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, steadier.

“I love you,” he says firmly, his words cutting through the silence. “You’re my sister, and you’re the only one I’ve got. It’s just you and me here, besides Mom and Dad back home. I don’t want you to leave. You’re my real best friend.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten, and you blink back fresh tears as he continues.

“I just want to see you happy,” he says, his tone gentle now. “I want to see you live your life, not bury yourself in work or stress. You put so much pressure on yourself, and it kills me to see you overwhelmed all the time. I thought… maybe having someone close to you, someone new, might give you a sense of peace.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair before sighing. “And listen, I know you said you and Haechan schemed this whole thing, but it’s obvious there’s something between you two. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

Your sobs come back harder, and Jeno instinctively moves closer, rubbing soothing circles on your back. His touch is warm, grounding, as his words wrap around you like a protective shield.

“I’ve always just wanted the best for you,” he says softly, leaning his head closer to yours. “I want you to be happy and healthy, and if that means staying here as long as you need, then stay. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ve got your back. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t welcome. That was never my intention, and I hate that I made you feel this way. I don’t want to push you away.”

You collapse into his arms, burying your face in his shoulder as your sobs come freely. His embrace is strong, steady, as he holds you like he’s anchoring you to the ground. For once, in a while, you felt wanted by your own blood.

“Thank you, Jen,” you manage between cries. “For everything. I’m so sorry I lied to you. I love you.”

He pulls you closer, his chin resting on your head. “I love you too,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “No more lying, okay? I’ve got your back, no matter what.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, the weight on your chest lifts just slightly, enough for you to breathe. You stay like that for a moment longer, letting yourself cry until the tears run out, until the warmth of your brother’s hug melts away the worst of your pain.

Jeno gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing. “Thank you for opening up to me. I’ll give you some space. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”

As he left your room, you could hear him muttering something under his breath. A moment later, the sound of his voice carried through the apartment as he tried to get a hold of Haechan.

“Yeah?” Haechan answers after the third ring, his voice tense.

“Meet me in front of my building in ten minutes,” Jeno says, his tone tight as he tries to keep his anger in check.

“So, she told you?” Haechan asks, his voice low.

“Yeah,” Jeno replies curtly.

Haechan pulls the phone away from his mouth, letting out a desperate sigh as his eyes fix on the ceiling, silently pleading for something—anything—to save him from what’s coming. After a long pause, he exhales sharply. “Okay, I’m on my way.”

Jeno stood outside the complex building, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across the sidewalk. The air was crisp, but it didn’t stop the tension from coiling in his chest. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets as he waited, replaying the conversation he’d had with his sister earlier.

Her tears, her shaky voice—everything about it had gutted him. Whatever had happened between her and Haechan, it needed to be resolved. Jeno wasn’t the kind of brother to let things like this slide, not when it was so obvious how much she was hurting.

Finally, he spotted Haechan approaching from a distance. The usual lightness in his step was gone, replaced by a slower, heavier gait. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his head tilted down, as if he already knew what was coming.

When Haechan reached him, Jeno didn’t waste time. “Do you love her?”

The question hit like a punch, straightforward and impossible to dodge. Haechan froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly before his gaze darted to the ground.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice quiet but steady. “I do. I have for a while now.”

Jeno’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but his expression remained firm. “Then what the hell happened?”

Haechan let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “I… I don’t know, man. She came over last night after the club, and everything was fine until I found this note in her purse. It was from some guy—‘J’ or whatever—and it just… messed me up. I didn’t know what to think.”

Jeno frowned, his brows furrowing. “A note? From who?”

“I don’t know,” Haechan said, his voice rising slightly. “It was just some number and a message about being there for her. It made me think—what if I’m not enough? What if she’s keeping her options open?”

Jeno’s jaw tightened, his frustration bubbling. “So you let your jealousy get the better of you and pushed her away instead of talking to her?”

“I didn’t push her away,” Haechan argued weakly, though the guilt in his voice was evident. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Jeno shook his head, exhaling sharply. “She loves you, Hyuck. She told me everything—how you two started this whole fake dating thing because of me and our parents. Only, it’s not fake for her anymore. She’s scared you don’t feel the same, and now she’s in her room crying because she thinks you don’t care.”

Haechan blinked, his breath catching. “She… she said that?”

“Yeah, she did,” Jeno said firmly. “And let me tell you something—you’re one of my best friends, Hyuck. You’re a good guy, but if you care about her, you need to prove it. You can’t keep shutting her out every time something scares you.”

Haechan swallowed hard, the weight of Jeno’s words sinking in.

“You’ve been a great friend to me,” Jeno continued, his voice softer now. “I know you’re the kind of person who would go to the ends of the earth for the people you care about. So if you really want to be with her, if you see a future with her, then you need to go upstairs, talk to her, and fix this. Don’t let one very stupid misunderstanding ruin everything.”

Haechan’s hands clenched at his sides, his heart racing as he processed everything.

“What if I screw it up again?” he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jeno placed a firm hand on his shoulder, his expression both serious and reassuring. “Then you keep trying. Relationships aren’t perfect, but they’re worth it when it’s real—and this? I can tell it’s real for both of you. So don’t waste any more time.”

Haechan nodded slowly, the resolve in his chest growing stronger. Without another word, he turned toward the building, his legs carrying him toward the confrontation he both dreaded and needed.

Jeno watched him go, letting out a deep sigh. For the first time all day, he felt a glimmer of hope that maybe—just maybe—things would turn out the way they were supposed to.

You had finally managed to calm yourself down after a long, warm shower and curling up under the covers of your bed. Yet, no matter how hard you tried, your mind kept replaying the events of the morning. Every sharp word, every look, every lingering feeling—it all circled in your head like a storm you couldn’t escape.

A sudden knock at your door interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Yeah?” you called out, assuming it was Jeno checking on you again. The door creaked open slowly, and when you looked up, it wasn’t Jeno.

Haechan stood there, hesitating in the doorway, his hand gripping the frame as if he needed it to steady himself.

“Hey… Can I come in?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost cautious.

You swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that you’d fought so hard to push down. Fidgeting with your hands, you nodded. “Sure.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him gently, as though he was afraid of shattering the fragile air between you. He moved to the corner of your bed, sitting down hesitantly, his posture stiff and uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice tinged with guilt. “For the way I reacted this morning. I was upset, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You gave me every chance to talk, and I just… didn’t.”

You stayed silent, watching him from the head of your bed, the weight of his words making your chest tighten.

“Truth is,” he continued, rubbing his hands together, “I found that napkin in your purse last night. You know, the one with the note.”

Suddenly, everything clicked.

“I got jealous,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “At first, that’s all it was. However, the more I read it, the more frustrated I got—not because some other guy was interested in you, but because I realized it was more than that.”

He sighed, his hand running through his hair, tugging at the strands in a way you recognized as his tell when he was struggling to get the words out.

“I like you,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “A lot. I like you a lot more than like, actually.” He let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking his head as his eyes dropped to the floor.

“Ever since we met, I’ve liked you,” he confessed, his voice quieter now. “At first, I didn’t say anything because you’re Jeno’s sister. What kind of friend would I be if I got feelings for my best friend’s sister, right? Then, it turned into something so much more than that. You became my best friend, too. The first person I think about when I wake up, the last person I think about before I fall asleep, and the only person in my dreams. You’re everywhere in my head.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, tears spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

“I know,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “It was my idea to start all of this. At first, it was just pretending, but then it became real. For me, it became so real. And that note? That stupid, meaningless note? It wasn’t even about the guy—it was about me. I hated that a complete stranger had the courage to tell you how he felt when I couldn’t, even after everything we’ve shared. I let my pride and my fear get in the way, and I hurt you because of it. I’m so sorry.”

This time, he looked up, his eyes locking with yours. They weren’t cold like they had been this morning. They were warm, soft, familiar—filled with the Haechan you knew and cared for. Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

“I’m truly sorry, love,” he said, his voice trembling slightly but full of conviction. “If you’ll let me, I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want this to be fake. I want us—you and me—to be real. Please, let’s make this real.”

His words hung in the air, each one wrapping around your heart and tugging at it. You stared at him, your lips parting slightly as you tried to process the raw sincerity in his confession. The way his eyes bore into yours, the vulnerability etched across his face, it all broke down every last wall you’d built to keep your feelings hidden.

Slowly, your body moved on its own. You crawled across the bed, closing the small space between you and Haechan before throwing your arms around his shoulders. His warmth engulfed you as your head nestled against his neck, and for the first time all day, you allowed yourself to melt into him.

Haechan’s arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling you even closer as he let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’m so sorry. I’ll never do that to you again. I promise, I’ll never hurt you like that again.”

His voice cracked with emotion, the words tumbling out over and over as he held you. His hand ran soothingly along your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

You stayed like that for a moment, soaking in his warmth and the steady beat of his heart. When you finally pulled back, your hands remained on his shoulders, and you found yourself looking into his eyes—those deep, soulful eyes that were filled with nothing but regret and love.

“The note,” you started softly, your voice steady despite the lump in your throat. “It was from some random guy at the club. He handed it to me, and I shoved it in my purse so I could throw it out later. But… we got drunk, and I completely forgot it was even there.”

His expression shifted instantly, from shock to embarrassment, and finally to guilt. “So it really didn’t mean anything?” he asked, his voice almost timid.

You shook your head firmly. “Not a thing. I didn’t even remember it existed until just now.”

Haechan exhaled a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “I overthought everything, and I pushed you away when I should’ve just asked you.”

You gave him a small, tentative smile, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing over his shoulders. “You’re not an idiot,” you said gently. “You were scared, and honestly? So was I.”

His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze softening as he tilted his head in curiosity. “Scared?”

You nodded, your cheeks warming under his intense gaze. “Scared because… I like you, too. A lot. Maybe more than a lot.” You let out a nervous laugh, your hands dropping to your lap. “I think I’ve been trying so hard to convince myself that this was just pretend because I didn’t want to ruin anything between us. But the truth is, I don’t want to pretend anymore either. I want us to start over—for real this time.”

His eyes widened at your words, and for a moment, he just stared at you, completely still. Then, as if something clicked inside him, his expression changed. The regret and guilt melted away, replaced by something so raw, so full of love and passion that it took your breath away.

Haechan reached for your face, his hands cradling your cheeks as if you were the most delicate thing in the world. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, your smile trembling as tears welled in your eyes. “I mean it.”

That was all he needed. In an instant, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was both passionate, real, and impossibly tender. His lips moved against yours with a reverence that made your heart ache, as if he were pouring every unspoken word, every hidden feeling, into that single moment.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his hoodie as you kissed him back, matching the intensity of his emotions. It was like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you, tangled in each other and the overwhelming feelings you’d kept buried for so long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and his thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession.

Your breath hitched, and your lips curved into a smile as you looked into his eyes. “I love you, too,” you said, your voice steady and full of truth.

The smile that broke across his face was radiant, and he pulled you into his arms again, holding you like he never wanted to let go. For the first time, there was no doubt, no pretending—just the two of you, finally on the same page.

The evening had finally arrived, and the three of you—Jeno, Haechan, and yourself—stood outside your parents' house. The warm glow of the porch light illuminated the path, casting a comforting hue that did little to calm the nerves buzzing in your chest. Haechan stood beside you, his hand brushing against yours, and when you glanced at him, he gave you a small smile, his own nerves barely hidden beneath his confident exterior.

“You guys ready?” Jeno asked, breaking the silence.

You nodded, inhaling deeply as you stepped forward.

When the door opened, the familiar warmth of your parents' home enveloped you. Your mom greeted you with a tight hug, her smile as radiant as ever. Your dad stood just behind her, his eyes lighting up as he welcomed all of you inside.

“Come in, come in! It’s been too long,” your mom said, ushering everyone inside.

As you stepped into the living room, Haechan gave your parents a polite bow, his usual charm already working its magic. “Thank you for having us tonight,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with warmth.

“Of course, Haechan,” your mom replied, smiling at him. “It’s nice to finally have you here as more than just Jeno’s friend.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow, a curious look passing over his face. “Oh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

This was it. You glanced at Haechan, and he gave you a reassuring nod, his hand discreetly finding yours. Together, you both stepped forward, standing side by side in front of your parents.

“Well,” you began, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. “We wanted to let you know that Donghyuck and I… we’re together now. Officially. He’s my boyfriend.”

Haechan��s smile widened as he looked at your parents, his voice filled with pride and sincerity as he added, “It’s true. I care about your daughter a lot, and I promise to always treat her with the love and respect she deserves.”

Your parents exchanged a quick glance, their expressions softening.

“Well,” your dad said after a moment, his voice warm, “if our daughter is happy, that’s all that matters to us.”

Your mom’s smile was beaming now as she stepped forward, squeezing you into a hug first before turning to Haechan. “Welcome to the family,” she said, patting his shoulder affectionately.

Behind you, Jeno let out a low whistle, crossing his arms as a smug grin spread across his face. “I told you they’d approve,” he said, clearly enjoying the moment.

You shot him a playful glare, but the warmth in his expression softened your teasing.

As the night unfolded, the five of you gathered around the dining table, the smell of your mom’s cooking filling the air. The conversation flowed easily, laughter punctuating the clinking of silverware. Haechan charmed your parents effortlessly, sharing stories of how you two had grown closer and subtly leaving out the “fake dating” part of your history.

Jeno leaned back in his chair, watching the scene with a satisfied look. His best friend and his sister were happy, his parents were smiling, and for once, everything felt exactly as it should be.

Your dad clapped Haechan on the back after dinner, laughing at one of his jokes. “You’re alright, kid,” he said. “Take care of my daughter, okay?”

“Always,” Haechan replied, his voice full of conviction.

By the time dessert was served, you felt a weight lifting from your chest. Sitting beside Haechan, with his hand resting comfortably on your knee under the table, you realized this was the first time you’d truly felt free. No more hiding, no more stress, no more pretending—just you and him, together, surrounded by the people you loved.

As the night wound down and your mom started clearing plates, Haechan leaned over to you, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “I can’t believe this is real.”

You turned to him, your smile soft. “It is, we don’t have to hide anymore.”

He grinned, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your temple. “I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too,” you replied, feeling the words settle warmly in your chest. Finally, you weren’t scared to say it.

As you glanced around the table, seeing the joy on your parents’ faces and Jeno’s approving nod, you knew this was the start of something beautiful. A life where you and Haechan could love each other openly, honestly, and fully—just as it was always meant to be.

BONUS

Months had passed since that dinner with your parents, and your relationship with Haechan had only grown stronger. Gone were the days of pretending and sneaking around. Now, you could openly love each other, and you savored every moment of it. Tonight was no exception.

The neon lights of the club bathed the group in a kaleidoscope of colors. Music thumped through the air, and laughter echoed as you, Haechan, Jeno, Karina, Mark, and Chenle occupied one of the larger booths. Drinks lined the table, and everyone was in high spirits, swaying to the rhythm of the music or yelling jokes over the pounding bass.

“Here,” Haechan said, sliding a glass across the table to you. “One for the prettiest girl in the room.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, taking the drink. “You’re shameless.”

“You love it,” he teased, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before anyone could interrupt.

“Hey!” Karina exclaimed, pointing her straw at the two of you. “We agreed to keep the PDA to a minimum tonight!”

Haechan shrugged, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he smirked. “What can I say? I can’t help myself.”

You nudged him, trying to suppress a laugh as Jeno and Chenle made exaggerated gagging sounds.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Mark said, grinning as he tipped his drink toward you both. “At least try to make it through one night without making the rest of us single people feel bad.”

“Who’s single?” Karina piped up, earning a round of laughter from everyone at the table.

As the night went on, the group gradually dispersed onto the dance floor. Haechan stayed by your side, his hand never leaving yours. You danced with him among your friends, his playful energy infectious as he twirled you under the flashing lights.

At one point, you found yourselves back at the bar, catching your breath and sipping on water.

“You know,” Haechan said, his tone suddenly lowered as he leaned closer, “you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Your cheeks warmed under his gaze. “You’ve told me that about three times already.”

“I’ll say it a hundred more times if I want to,” he replied, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him. “Careful, Donghyuck. You’re laying it on a little thick.”

He grinned, leaning in so his lips brushed your ear. “If you think this is thick, wait till I get you alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you pushed him lightly, trying to hide the flush on your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re irresistible,” he quipped, finishing his drink and setting the glass down. “Come on.”

“Where?” you asked, watching as he grabbed your hand and started leading you away from the bar.

“Somewhere we can actually hear each other,” he said with a wink, weaving the two of you through the crowd.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves in one of the quieter private rooms tucked away in the back of the club. The walls muffled the music just enough, creating a more intimate atmosphere. A small couch and a dim overhead light added to the cozy vibe.

Haechan shut the door behind you, turning to face you with a smirk that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “Now this,” he said, stepping closer, “is more like it.”

You laughed, backing up until your legs hit the couch. “So, what’s your plan now that you’ve dragged me back here?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled you into his arms, swaying gently to the faint rhythm of the music that still seeped through the walls. His hands rested on your waist as he leaned his forehead against yours.

“Dance with me,” he whispered, his voice soft.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. The two of you moved slowly, completely lost in your own little world.

As the song in the distance changed to something slower, Haechan tilted your chin up, his eyes locking with yours. “You know,” he said, his voice barely audible, “I think this is my favorite place to be—with you.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his words. “Hyuck…”

Before you could say anything else, he closed the gap between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and electric. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, leaving you breathless.

The world outside faded entirely, leaving only the two of you wrapped up in each other. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your back, and when he pulled away just enough to whisper, “I love you,” his voice was steady and sure.

Your heart swelled, and you cupped his face, your thumbs brushing against his cheeks as you whispered back, “I love you too.”

Haechan grinned, his eyes lighting up with pure joy before he kissed you again, his movements more urgent but still filled with the same passion.

Getting lost in not only the kiss but in his touch you find yourself breathing heavier the closer his lips moved down your neck.

"W-What are you doing?" you asked, a low chuckle escaping your lips despite the tension in the air.

"My girlfriend," he murmured between kisses, his voice low and filled with desire. In that moment, the world beyond the locked door ceased to exist.

With skilled hands, he slipped the straps of your dress off your shoulders, letting them hang low and exposing your already hardened nipples. His eyes raked over you, taking in every detail as though he couldn't believe you were real.

"I'll never get tired of this," he whispered, his voice dripping with awe as his mouth latched onto your left breast, his tongue swirling against your sensitive skin.

A loud moan escaped you, echoing faintly in the private room, but the thundering bass of the music outside was loud enough to drown it out.

"Get loud for me, baby," he urged, his voice teasing and commanding all at once. "I wanna hear how beautiful you sound for me."

His hands slid to your back as he unzipped your dress, letting it pool around your ankles. Without hesitation, he positioned you on the sofa, one of your legs resting over his shoulder as his dark eyes zeroed in on your glistening core.

"Barely did anything, and you're already begging for me," he teased, slipping two fingers inside you with ease, the smirk on his lips widening when your sharp gasp filled the air.

"Haechan... please," you pleaded, your hands gripping the fabric of the couch as your body trembled beneath his touch.

"I'm not done, babe," he murmured, his fingers curling inside you, expertly hitting that sweet spot that made your back arch.

His tongue flicked out, meeting your needy clit as he lavished every inch of you with attention, his lips and tongue working in perfect harmony.

Your moans grew louder, your hips bucking against his mouth as your hands tangled in his hair. He groaned into you, the vibrations driving you wild as he watched you lose control, grinding yourself against him with abandon.

Haechan's free hand wandered to his hardened bulge, brushing over his strained cock that twitched with every sound you made. He bit back a growl, desperate to feel you fully but savoring every moment of your unraveling.

When your release finally washed over you, your scream of his name echoed in the room. Your body shuddered as your juices dripped down his chin, his tongue greedily lapping at everything you gave him.

As you lay there, trying to catch your breath, Haechan rose to his feet, unfastening his belt with swift hands and tugging his pants down to his ankles.

Your eyes widened at the sight of him, your lips parting in awe as you noticed his hard cock, his tip red and aggravated with precum.

He leaned down, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist before gripping your hair gently but firmly. His dark, hungry eyes bore into yours as he spoke, his voice dripping with authority. "You're going to take me right here, right now. I don't want you holding back those pretty moans of yours. Got it?"

You nodded quickly, barely able to speak before he lined himself up and thrust into you with a deep, powerful motion. A low growl escaped his lips as he buried himself to the hilt, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"So fucking tight for me," he groaned, his voice rough in your ear. "Always so tight."

His pace started slow but deliberate, each thrust pulling moans from you that sent heat coursing through your entire body. His eyes locked onto yours as he noticed the outline of his protruding length against your stomach.

Grinning, he grabbed your hands and pressed them to it.

"You feel that, baby?" he said, his voice husky. "Soon, I'll fill you up right there. Is that what you want?"

Your sweat-slicked skin glistened as you bit your lip, nodding feverishly. "Yes! Please, Donghyuck, I want you to fill me up with every drop!"

His thrusts quickened, each one deeper and more relentless as his free hand trailed up to cup your throat. "That's my girl," he praised, his voice thick with desire as he watched you fall apart beneath him.

When your walls began to flutter and clench around him, his groan turned into a deep growl. "Donghyuck!" you cried out, your nails digging into his back as your release crashed over you.

He wasn't far behind. His hips stuttered as his grip tightened, his eyes rolling back as he spilled himself inside you, his body trembling with the force of his climax. Even as he came, he rocked his hips, ensuring every last part of him stayed buried deep within you.

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sounds of your labored breathing.

Haechan's forehead rested against yours as his hand moved to brush damp strands of hair from your face.

"Round two at my place?" he asked, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Your laugh echoed softly as you cupped his face, your gaze filled with warmth. "Only if we manage to sneak away without getting caught."

"Say less." He grinned, standing to pull his pants back on before helping you dress. His hands lingered a little too long on your hips, his touch still filled with the passion of the moment.

Hand in hand, the two of you slipped out of the private room, sharing whispered laughs and conspiratorial smiles as you made your way through the club and out into the cool night air.

You felt completely free, the chaos of the night left behind as you escaped into a world where it was just you and him. Together, you'd already won a lifetime of love

‧˚⭒ taglist: @jaeminnanaaa17 @scoobysnackszoo @1800-jigglemywiggle @karmasbestie @cathamada @yoursyuno @oneeew @serenedreamscape @moryymor @yesohhsehun @dnihyuck @doyotint @kodasity @rainverry

[dcxdpdabbles]

#Holiday requests If you're not too busy I would love another part to cinnamon rolls son. Love your writing, it really is a great inspiration, you got me out of my own writing slump.

The Justice League was at their wits ends with Dan. Disaster struck no matter what they attempted to ensure he developed some softer traits.

First, Barry had the bright idea to show him the wonders of volunteer work to help the community. If he could value the life of humans, surely he wouldn't destroy it in the far future. As a teenager, Barry had punched hours of volunteering in the local hospital to play and read to the sick children in bed.

He had done it because he enjoyed making children smile and built up his resume for college. Barry was many things, but being wealthy enough to afford college wasn't one of them. He wanted to apply for as many scholarships as possible, so he started his community service campaign from an early age.

On the first day of their community service, Barry had taken him to clean up the local beach. An hour into the work, a shark had been spotted near the swimmers, and Dan had dived in to rescue a little girl from its jaws.

Dan had been hailed a hero until he picked up the girl's father and threw him into the water towards said shark. The father had ignored his seven-year-old daughter for his mistress. Apparently, once Dan overheard the man panicking more about his wife finding out the beach father-daughter beach day was just an excuse to cheat on her than his crying daughter in the ambulance, Dan had figured he needed to be taught a lesson.

Dan stood over him while the man screamed and splashed, pointing and laughing. Were it not for the Flash's sudden appearance, well....Dan may have actually fed that cheating cum bag to the sharks.

Bruce added it to the shared drive, asking Barry to include a complete detailed report, by the hour, of what happened. They figured they could analyze Dan and find what could make him snap.

Next, Clark took Dan to his family farm. He claimed nothing brought up good children like his mother and father's gentle but firm parenting,g plus the wonders of the hard farmer life. Clark was sure Dan would enjoy all the open space, the animals, and working in the fields.

Within the hour of the pair arriving at the farm, Dan happily weeded around the field. Clark was somewhat surprised by how quick he took to the job. He went inside to help Ma ready some pie and Clark's legendary lemonade as a reward.

It only took a few minutes since Ma had already put the pie to cook before they arrived. The two were gone long enough that Clark could make a nice pitcher and take a few seconds to smell the mouthwatering pie.

He went back into the field carrying a tray of a plated two-slice pie and a cold glass cup, only to stop dead in his tracks. Dan was kneeling, laughing manically towards the sky, within the circle of burning weeds.

The flames were a green and black color. Its dark smoke shifted into what appeared to be screaming humans. The worst part, however, was the lines of what appeared to be renamed scarecrows wearing shackles as they harvest Pa's cornfield.

Clark was horrified.

Batman had added to the drive, "Gave life to inanimate things just to enslave them."

Hal was the next one to try, but no one knew what happened on their Become A Better Person trip. Hal refused to place a report, only stating that he could never look at Hawaiian pizza again. He threw up when Barry brought one in for a long meeting.

At least Phantom seemed happy they were still attempting to save his son. His daughter was also more well-behaved, spending most of her days traveling. It was strange to associate her with Phantom because if there was one thing Dani liked to do, it was pick fights.

She had fought through Darkside's defenses to challenge him to a pie-eating contest. She freed half of his planet on her way out, but not before beating them up to get them to listen.

Her father would have spent time trying to do things peacefully. Not Dani. She did stuff through her fists.

Batman had added classifications to the three ghosts in the file. Phantom was Lawfully good, Dani Chaotic good, and Dan was marked as Chaotic neutral. The rest of the league suspects that his children added those, but no one was brave enough to point it out.

[airybcby]

જ⁀♡⊹｡° because i liked a boy

♡ a/n — for my new childhood friends to lovers series :)

♡ word count — 1.5k

♡ content — oliver aiku x fem! reader, fem! reader, could be gn but i wanted to be safe in case i missed a few pronouns, childhood friends to lovers, mention of social media hate, goes from 2nd grade to the U-20 game, nickname 'my girl' used once

♡ synopsis — You’d been Oliver Aiku's best friend since you could walk, but what if you wanted to be more?

Oliver Aiku had always been larger than life. Even as a scrappy little kid on the soccer field, he had this magnetic pull that made you look at him twice. It wasn’t just the way he played—wild and relentless, like the ball was an extension of himself—it was the way he owned the field, every inch of it.

He’d score a goal, throw his arms in the air, and spin to face the crowd as if he were already playing in a packed stadium. The parents on the sidelines clapped politely, some shaking their heads at his showboating, but you? You clapped the loudest.

Parents exchanged awkward glances, but none of it ever phased Oliver.

He had you.

You’d been his best friend since you could walk—your families were next-door neighbors, practically an extension of each other. Whenever someone had enough of his showboating, he’d turn to you with that unshakable grin.

“You saw that, right?” he’d call out, jogging over to where you sat with your knees pulled to your chest.

“Yeah, Oliver, I saw,” you’d reply, trying and failing to hide your smile.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he’d say, tousling your hair before running off to join his teammates.

Back then, he didn’t care who was watching or what anyone thought. It was enough that you were there, your laughter and cheers louder than everyone else’s combined.

By middle school, Oliver had grown taller, his voice deepening as his grin remained the same. He still played soccer like the world depended on it, but something else was changing, too.

Your classmates whispered in hallways about who liked who, notes were passed in class, and suddenly everyone seemed to be holding hands. Oliver wasn’t immune to the wave of adolescent curiosity, but unlike the others, he approached it with the same fearless energy he brought to the game.

He started dating casually, his charm drawing girls in like moths to a flame. Each week, there was a new name, a new story. You’d sit on your bedroom floor together, him tossing a soccer ball from hand to hand while you half-listened to his latest escapades.

“She dumped me,” he said one day, catching the ball and staring at it like it held the answers.

“Why?”

“She said I didn’t text her enough,” he replied with a shrug.

“Did you?”

“Nope.” He tossed the ball into the air and caught it again. “Too much effort.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed anyway. It was impossible to stay annoyed with him for long, but something about these conversations left a knot in your chest. You weren’t sure why until the day he turned to you, his grin soft and sincere.

“Hey, if you’re feeling left out,” he said, “we could date.”

Your heart stumbled in your chest. “What?”

“I like you,” he said, as if it were obvious. “If you like me, let’s try. You’re the only person who actually gets me anyway.”

The words hung in the air between you, so simple yet so earth-shattering. You liked him—you always had—but the thought of crossing that line was terrifying. Still, the way he looked at you, so sure, made it impossible to say no.

But it didn’t take long for you to realize you weren’t ready. The idea of ruining what you had—the easy laughter, the shared history—was too much.

You barely managed to hold his hand, let alone anything else. So you broke it off before it could go any further.

Still, Oliver didn’t hold it against you. “You’re my best friend,” he’d said. “That’s never gonna change.”

And he kept his word. To this day, you were the only ex Oliver Aiku had ever stayed friends with.

By the time high school rolled around, Oliver was no longer just a neighborhood star. He was the Oliver Aiku, soccer prodigy and the center of every conversation. He’d grown into his confidence, wearing it like a second skin, and the world couldn’t look away.

Everyone wanted a piece of him—teammates, classmates, even teachers. And though he still found his way to your side, leaning against your locker or texting you late at night, the space between you began to grow.

“I miss when it was just us,” you admitted one afternoon, your voice barely louder than the hum of the vending machines outside the gym.

Oliver tilted his head, his brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean? It’s still us.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

You didn’t say that, though. Instead, you smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the ache of watching him move further into a world where you couldn’t quite follow.

You tried not to let it bother you, the way girls flocked to him in the hallways, the way his name was always on someone’s lips. You weren’t invisible, not really, but compared to him? It felt like you were.

Still, Oliver always made time for you. You were grateful for that.

“You’re the only one I can actually talk to,” he said, making it clear there's a reason it's always been you two. “Everyone else just wants to hear about soccer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s because you never shut up about it.”

He grinned, nudging you playfully. “See? That’s why I like you. Low maintenance. A good friend.”

For some reason, the words stung. You’d always been friends—why did hearing him say it now hurt so much?

When Oliver got his first pro offer, it should have been the happiest day of his life.

He found you immediately after practice, bursting through the door of your part-time job at the library with his usual uncontainable energy.

“I’m taking you out,” he declared, practically dragging you away from the returns cart.

You laughed, stumbling after him. “Shouldn’t you be with your family? This is a huge deal!”

He shook his head, grinning. “I have all the time in the world with them,” he said, flashing you a grin. “I’d rather be with my girl.”

You froze. “I’m not your girl—”

He cut you off. “Do you want to be?”

The air shifted between you, heavy with something unspoken. This time, you didn’t back away.

The words lit something warm in your chest, and for the first time in years, it felt like things were back to the way they used to be. Just you and Oliver, like always.

Oliver’s first season was everything you’d hoped for him. His name was everywhere, his skills celebrated, his confidence unmatched. When the season ended, he posted a picture of the two of you on Instagram—a soft launch for some, but for Oliver, it was a declaration.

“First year down, forever to go,” the caption read.

Some assumed he was talking about soccer. You knew better.

But by his second season, the narrative had changed. His performance wasn’t as sharp, at least in the eyes of fans and reporters. Every missed pass, every fumbled play, was scrutinized. And somehow, the blame landed on you.

“She’s a distraction,” one reporter wrote. “He was better when he was single,” another said. “With that woman clinging to him, he won’t make it in this industry,” a coach even said during a press conference.

Your social media became a war zone. Strangers flooded your posts with hate, blaming you for Oliver’s supposed “decline.” You tried to ignore it, but the words stuck to your skin like thorns.

The U-20 loss was devastating, the kind of failure that sent shockwaves through his career and his psyche. When you found him in the locker room after the game, he was a shell of himself, his usual confidence replaced by simmering frustration.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.

“I wanted to see you,” you said softly.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s the problem.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“You,” he snapped. “I should’ve listened,” he continued, his tone venomous. “Everyone warned me, but I was stupid enough to think you wouldn’t ruin my life.”

You'd fought before, what couple hadn't but, you ruining his life? "I've been friends with you basically your whole life!" you argued back, fists clutching at the 'Aiku' jersey that adorned your torso.

No matter what you said, Oliver wasn't listening. “You’ve been nothing but a distraction. Ever since we got together, everything’s gone to shit. My career, my focus—it’s all your fault.”

The words sliced through you, sharper than any knife. “Oliver, that’s not fair—”

“Fair?” He laughed again, harsh and hollow. “What’s fair is that I gave up everything for this, and I’m still losing. Maybe if I hadn’t wasted so much time with you, things would be different.”

Your breath caught, tears blurring your vision. “If that’s how you feel, then I should go.”

“Maybe you should,” he said, his voice cold and final.

So you left.

The weeks that followed were unbearable. You deleted your social media, unable to face the onslaught of strangers blaming you for Oliver’s mistakes. Everywhere you went, you felt like a ghost, haunted by his words and the memories of what you’d shared.

You wanted to hate him, to let his betrayal harden your heart, but the truth was, you missed him.

And deep down, you wondered if he missed you too.

the synopsis is awful so sorry if you jumped in not knowing what was gonna happen

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[narcjsistx]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑

✶ kaiser micheal soldier official art x fem reader

✶ word count: 1.1k (1152)

The smell of disinfectant mixed with blood is something you've become accustomed to since you've been here. The months spent at the shelter have passed quickly, yet the letters you sent so long ago don't seem to have been received, as you haven't had any response from your family

Or maybe they received the letters, but they chose not to respond. Maybe they are still angry with you for what happened, since it is not usual for a woman to run away from her family. But you didn't run away... or rather, you did, but only temporarily. At the end of the war you will return home as a married woman, perhaps even with a child in your womb. But maybe that's exactly why your family didn't respond to the letters

"Y/n, he's here" your companion says, as she rubs some liquid medicine on the soldier's knee; the man groans in pain, but you pay no attention as you step out of the tent, pushing aside the fabrics that protect it from the cold. Adjusting the miserable uniform you are wearing, you head towards the end of the shelter, passing through the bodies of the dead and living soldiers, plus those of the nurses and your companions

You step outside, placing a hand against your face to shield yourself from the sun. The light wind gently blows your clothes away, as you hear someone coming in front of you, stopping a few inches away. Smile spontaneously, lowering your arm to see who is in front of you, even if you already know it thanks to the similar smell

"Kaiser!" you say happily, as the pale face of the man you love comes into your view. Michael takes off his soldier's hat, squeezing it between his fingers as he raises his hand to place it on your rosy cheek. You tilt your face, burying your cheek in his warm palm, as if that hand hadn't taken the lives of a lot of people. But you're at war, you can't say anything against him, he's the best of his squadron and he has to do what he has to do

“Liebe” the man says, running his fingers over your cheek. Kaiser takes a few steps forward, awkwardly placing his hat on your head. You giggle, as his free hand lands on your other cheek, cupping your face in his hands “My savior”

"I'm glad to see you here. You worried me when you didn't come to my dorm last night" you say worriedly, remembering the anxiety you had felt. Kaiser is fighting a few miles away from the soldiers' shelter, and every day he tries to come to you in the morning or at night. But yesterday he didn't show up and knowing that at the front there is hard fighting, you got scared

"I know. The commander asked me to watch over some cadets" he says, taking a long breath. You nod, focusing more on the fact that your man is finally here. The sun shines on the gold trim of his uniform, the soft grey fabric accentuating his slender form. You smile, breathing a sigh of relief at seeing him alive, which is not a given "Will you stay with me tonight?" you ask hopefully, looking forward to finally feeling his tired, scarred body collapse into you, hugging you tightly. Kaiser nods "I'll be with you late at night. Wait for me, Liebe"

"Of course I will!" you say smiling even happier, happy to know that you can be with him again tonight. Micheal stares at you for a few seconds, thoughtful, then pulls your face against his, lifting your chin to better position your lips on his. You are surprised, then standing on tiptoe to reach a more comfortable height, while you enjoy the affection of your soon-to-be husband. His free hand makes room for your lower back, pushing you against him so you don't escape, as if you even remotely intend to. His lips press needily against yours, the same way he does every time because he knows he isn't absolutely sure he'll see you one last time. He's strong, you know that too, but war kills even the most hopeful

It is precisely for these kisses that you decided to follow him, when he made the decision to go and fight at the front. You have known each other since you were children, and there has always been a deep love between you, even if you have to hide it: it is not common for women to have a boyfriend before the man her family will choose as her future husband. And yet, you know for absolute certainty that you would never love someone like you love this blond boy. Your family hates him, and his father hates you, but you still decided to go with him because of how strong your feelings are, because of how much you need to hear him on your lips. You took the vows of a nurse in a soldiers' shelter near him, and as soon as the war ends he promised to marry you and make you happy, more than he already does. If you get married again, your family won't be able to separate you, especially if there could be a possible child in your womb involved once married. But the war won't end soon, or at least that's what he tells you in the evenings when he sinks into your arms. So there's still a wait

"It could all be over in less than a year, if our squadron continues to annihilate. The enemy is weak, but we must continue to advance to end all this" he says, briefly breaking away from your lips, only to leave a kiss on the tip of your nose "But, if all this is true, it means that in less than a year you will be my wife. And that is what drives me to go on, knowing that I will finally have you beside me constantly, in a house of our own and with children born of our love. I fight to have you mine as soon as possible" he says, removing his hat from your head, moving some hair from your forehead to leave a kiss "And I will make you happy, and I will be if I know that you will love me every day like the first"he says, in an affectionate tone, the one that convinces you more and more that you have made the right choice

"I can't wait, Kaiser," you say, holding onto him, the fabric of his uniform smeared against your body. "I can't wait for all of this to happen. Our children will be so happy," you say, lovingly, and he nods, hugging you close to him

"They will be, just like us. At the end of the war, we will be happy, very happy, Liebe"

✶ 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

[klausysworld]

Hello there. I hope you're doing well. I didn't notice if you were taking requests, but my birthday is on January 9th, and I wanted to ask for a birthday request. I want to request birthday smut with Klaus. I'll leave it up to you, but could you add being tied up, blindfolded, breeding kink, and maybe it results in pregnancy? I'll leave the plot up to you. If you could do this, it would be a great birthday present. If you can't, I understand.

Happy Birthday!!!

Sensual Night

Klaus had been trouble since the moment he'd woken me up. His hands had been sliding along the skin of my thighs all day, his fingers tapping on my flesh as he eyed me through his lashes.

"I assure you, after dinner you'll get your real present, love." He murmured, leaning down to kiss my lips deeply, his tongue swirling around mine and making me drunk on his taste.

I got a different gift each hour of the day, ranging from a teddy bear to a sapphire necklace.

We went out to dinner with the whole family, Elijah and Rebekah giving heartfelt speeches between courses. By dessert Klaus's hand had worked its way under the skirt of my dress, his long slender fingers toying with the lace of my underwear and occasionally brushing over my wetness as if to prove the affect he had on me.

One of his hand held the bag of presents from his siblings and the other had a firm grip on mine as he lead us toward the hotel he'd booked. The woman at the desk practically jumped out of her seat when she saw Klaus's face, immediately getting the penthouse key card and offering to carry the bag of gifts but Klaus refused and took me himself.

The 'room' was absolutely beautiful. A suitcase of our things was already up there, and Klaus had me by the hips.

"Your birthday is definitely not over yet, my love. Not even close." He grinned, such a cruel grin as he stepped forward, guiding my steps backward until my shins hit the edge of a bed.

"You've already given me so much." I whispered but I couldn't help the smile creeping on my lips.

"I'd give you anything and everything." He murmured, his voice so low it made me groan as he shoved me back, my back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. I bit my lip as I looked up at him, letting out a squeal when his body hovered over mine. His hands yanked his own shirt off before he bent down, his mouth grazing the skin of my neck.

Wet kissed marked down between my collar bone and his warm tongue wetted the skin of my breasts before his teeth got to work, one button at a time until the front of my dress was completely open.

"I might never get over how gorgeous you are." He groaned, his teeth tugging at the thin material of my bra. One harsh jerk of his head had the fabric tearing and leaving me completely vulnerable to his mouth.

My eyes closed, a soft sig leaving my lips when his tongue enveloped my nipple. I was already soaked from dinner, my nipples had been hard almost the entire day. My body finally receiving the attention only he could provide was making my cunt weep.

It wasn't long before his mouth swapped over to the other breast and his hands were dragging my panties off my ass.

Our eyes met as he lifted his head, his lips swollen as he stared down at me hungrily, that same hunger he held when he was about to devour some poor soul. My hand reached for his face, letting him nuzzle into my palm like an animal.

"I love you." I whispered and a soft rumble vibrated through his chest and to me.

"I love you more." He countered making me smile again.

Fingers wrapped around the length of my wrist, pulling my hand from his face. Those blush lips of his kissed the veins along my inner forearm before his other hand grabbed the other. Both my wrists were lifted above my head and he leant down to suck his possessive marks into my neck.

"I have a few more little gifts for you, sweetheart. Sit up." He ordered, getting off me and leaning off to the side of the bed. I pulled myself up like he asked, doing one better and resting on my knees. A second later a thin black box was placed in front of me, Klaus's blue eyes staring back at me with dark intent.

I fiddled with the lid, pulling it off and looking at the neatly folded, soft, pink strip of material inside. "It's silk." Klaus revealed as his hands lifted the fabric up and brought it just in front of my face. "Close your eyes, love." He instructed but his voice was soft. I nodded and let my lips shut, only a second later feeling the gentle touch across my skin. I tried to see a moment later but darkness kept me from doing so. I breathed slow, my hands reaching to feel Klaus and he chuckled softly. "Those hands are the next to go, my love." He purred against my ear causing a shiver to run along my spine.

"What- what do you mean?" I asked quietly despite my body already thrumming with excitement; I knew exactly what he meant.

"Don't play coy, love." He breathed, I could hear the smirk on his face. "Don't fight me, be a good girl and you'll be satisfied." He chuckled, his hand stroking the skin of my back. "Hands and knees."

I did as told, settling on all fours before both my wrists were grabbed again. My face hit the bed in front of me, a huff leaving me and I knew he was grinning.

"Good girl. Stay still." He murmured, his hands pushing my thighs apart so that I could feel how spread out I was for him.

Both my wrists were pulled together, the same fabric that was tied round my head now bound my hands together too. I felt my lower abdomen tighten pleasantly at the mere idea of what was to come. "Klaus..."

"I know." He mumbled, I felt his hot breath of the base of my spine before his lips pressed kissed the skin of my lower back, down my ass before his tongue licked a long strip through me from behind making my legs quiver and my body to jolt.

"Oh-" I gasped and he hummed, his mouth moving sensually against my pussy. "Klaus..." I panted, my mouth open and pressed against the bed. "Oh fuck!" I whimpered.

"Mmm, someone's needy on her birthday." His voice chuckled from behind me before my clit was trapped in a pool of heat. My knees slid further apart making him chuckle as I got lower to the bed. "You're making it hard to taste you, sweetheart."

"I can't-" I moaned, struggling as his fingers dug into my hips, lifting me back up. His hand pat the top of my ass gently before sliding up my back, his hand touching one of mine and squeezing gently.

"Listen to me, love. Tell me exactly what you can hear hm?" He directed and I did as he said. My senses focusing more as my sight was limited. I could hear him breathing, the soft rustle of the sheets. My own breathing was the loudest, the air was blowing against the bed in fast puffs.

"Just us, I hear us." I mumble, my brows pulling together under the silk blindfold. "Your- your breathing is so steady."

"No love, yours is just a mess." He chuckled, his hand squeezing my hip. "What do you smell?" He asked and I focused again.

"Your special occasion aftershave" I whispered and he laughed.

"Can't even remember the name?" He teased and I shook my head. "Even though you picked it for me? How peculiar. Don't worry, love, you won't forget my gift to you."

I smiled to myself, feeling his hands stroke my sides.

"Now tell me what you feel." He uttered and just as I opened my mouth I felt him there, right where I needed him, pushing into me.

"Ahh..." I shuddered and he let out a soft groan too.

My hands clenched, my wrists tugged at my restraints weakly as he pushed the first few inches in. The stretch was so beautifully familiar. One of his hands wrapped round both my wrists, pushing me down into the bed so my back was curved in.

"What was that, sweetheart?" He grunted and I resisted a whimper.

"You- I feel you." I whined and he pushed harder, my face squishing into the bed. "I- I feel a sting, but I like it." I uttered and he hummed.

"I know you do, you like being bound and helpless; don't you love?" He murmured darkly and I couldn't help but nod. He chuckled again as his hips rose against my ass, his hips making a soft 'clap' against mine. I felt myself tighten, holding onto him as he slowly sheathed in and out.

"Mm...Klaus" I moaned, clenching without control and his breathing started getting a little messier. The rhythm of him moving inside of me was making me borderline scream against the mattress I felt his hips stutter and I panted, smiling slightly into the bed. "Please..." I whispered. "Please"

"I know sweetheart. You want to feel me don't you, love?" He chuckled, his voice hoarse now. He knew what I wanted and I knew he loved it to. "Ready, love?" He grunted and I nodded eagerly. "Gonna fill you up-" He groaned and I arched deeper, feeling him snug against me.

"Babies..." I uttered. "Gonna get me pregnant this time, please?" I whimpered and he let out a guttural sound.

"Yes, sweetheart. That's right- that's it" He moaned, his hand squeezing my wrists so tight they burned. My whole body felt as though it had fallen apart as he came and my pussy pulsed at a constant speed until I could finally focus on something other than how my body felt.

I could hear Klaus panting, feel his warm breath against the back of my neck before he shifted. His body wasn't so close, I couldn't feel his skin stick against mine. But I could feel his cock leaving me, a weak cry leaving me as I felt myself ache without him.

The ribbon around my wrists went loose, my arms fell to my sides. My body was lifted and I was settled back down on my side, his body holding mine to his front. A moment passed before a cool wetness wiped over my thighs making me flinch slightly. "Shh, it's just a baby wipe, love." He murmured. I nodded in faint understanding, being less cautious as he finished cleaning me.

The blindfold was finally removed, my eyes squinting a little before I gained my sight fully and I could see him properly.

His lips pressed a soft kiss to my forehead, then my cheek and down to my lips. The warmth of his mouth was always so comforting, the feel of his lips on mine, tongue around mine. He pulled back after a few minutes, allowing me to suck in a breath.

"Happy birthday, my sweet love." He uttered and I smiled.

"Thank you, Klaus." I relaxed back, my head going back down onto the pillow beneath and he hummed.

"You need a break, love?" He asked, a slightly amused tone.

"We're still going?" I asked, looking up at him and feeling a little giddy.

"You think I'd leave you to sleep after that? It's your night all night."

"All night?"

"All night."

"Do you think...maybe..." I trailed and he hummed, kissing the corner of my lips.

"I promise to put a baby in you tonight, my love. You'll be swollen with child before morning."

Klaus never failed to impress, especially not on my birthday.

[from-izzy]

[17:07] | enhypen park sunghoon

Sunghoon grunts at the reminder of your true visit, yet still makes love to your collarbones to cherish every second with you. “Not yet…” he pleads that time will go slower. 

pairing » enhypen park sunghoon x fem!reader

trope/au » established relationship au, (not so) secret relationship au, non-idol au

genre » fluffy fluff with slight suggestive themes (nothing like this), lovesick and cute sunghoon, boyfriend sunghoon, reader helping with sunghoon's sister's dinner dance prep!

word count; estimated reading time » 1293; ~5 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » getting caught during making out by sunghoon's sister, kissing on lower abdomen/body, sunghoon lifts reader, reader implied to be smaller than sunghoon

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 enhypen masterlist

my debut to enhablr...? i see clips of sunghoon and heeseung and they make me wanna get into enha 🥹 i'm sure the fandom knows that sunghoon has a sister but i didn't use her real name for this fic; it just makes me more comfortable in this way. hope you all enjoy!!

You don't usually knock on the Park’s residence house since Sunghoon would usually open it for you as per his invite, or help you sneak in through the side window. But today is a bit different since today is Serin’s dinner dance at her school, and she asked you for help with makeup and outfits. In a heartbeat, you agreed, especially since the event has been a special one for you since the day Sunghoon asked you to be his.

Sunghoon knows about you coming over to help his sister, but knowing that your visit today isn't for him puts a frown on his face. His relationship with you is still private, which is something that you both want at the current moment. But after a year of dating, he can't wait to formally introduce his once best friend to his family who is already very fond of you. 

“Thank you so much for coming!” The door opens to reveal the younger girl. “Come in!”

You chuckle at her excited nature. You know Serin has been a delightful one since a long time ago, and you're glad to be part of a wonderful event for her. A few steps into the house, you see Sunghoon by the couch, resting his chin on his arm as he pouts at you. 

“Hey,” you greet him casually, sneaking in a wink behind Serin.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes away playfully, turning around to the television as he sulks and sinks into the couch. 

“Oppa! Don't be rude!” Serin defends you. “But whatever, guess I'll have her to myself.”

If it was anyone other than his beloved sister saying those words, Sunghoon would cling to your side, sweep you off your feet and claim your lips with his. “Whatever,” Sunghoon dismisses her with a hand wave. 

Upstairs, Serin had all her makeup and dress options ready for your second opinion. It wasn't long until you chose the one you thought suited her the best, helping her change and adjusting it to fit nicely on her body. Just as so, it didn't take long until your numerous hair and makeup suggestions were chosen by her. 

“You're gonna be the prettiest girl in the room,” you blend the pink blush across her cheeks. 

“Of course, I am. You're the one giving me the makeup after all,” you chuckle at her words, adding the finishing touches and setting spray onto her face. “Don't tell Sunghoon this, but I'm going with a date.”

You gasp at the information. “Really?! That's so cute! Let me see a picture!”

Serin skips over to make sure the bedroom door is locked before sitting on the edge of her bed, patting the empty space beside her for you. The younger swipes through the many pictures in her gallery, recounting the main parts of that day spent together. 

You know what it feels like to be attracted to someone. To like someone, and ultimately, to be head over heels in love with someone. Looking through the pictures of her and her partner for the dance, you could tell that it wasn't puppy love or a short-lived crush. How'd you know? Her eyes sparkle with minimal lighting as they cuddle in the picture tells you everything her heart feels.

“Don't tell Sunghoon please,” a pout overtakes her face. “You know how protective he is, and I promise I will tell him soon.”

You squint your eyes in suspicion, humming in contemplation. The younger pleads once more, a pinky out hanging in the air, waiting for yours. In the end, you gave in, knowing well that you weren't going to not agree from the start. You understand where she's coming from since your brother is the same as well.

“Alright, go get the rest of your things ready!” You nudged your shoulder against hers and excused yourself from her room. 

As soon as the door clicks securely shut, your fingertips on the metal knob don't even get a chance to properly let go when they're replaced with warmth instead. A hand grasps the side of your waist, pulling you next door where the meaning behind another click of this door differs greatly. 

You yelp at the soft tug, a hand protecting the back of your head when your body hits the door. The room is barely lit, only the moon and the street lights shining through from the still-opened curtains beside you giving the luminance enough for you to face your blushing boyfriend. 

Sunghoon sighs deeply with how he manages to finally have alone time with you successfully without getting caught. His lips finally attach to yours, drowning out the giggling and pleasurable moaning slipping out from the both of you. Your eyelids flutter shut, brushing against his skin gently as he shudders at the way your nose nudges his as you kiss him feverishly. As the situation escalates, the hood around his head falls, giving your hand access to his beautiful locks.

The grip on the side of your body tightens only slightly as your boyfriend pulls you closer to his chest that your hands rest on. Sunghoon leaves your lips, travelling to your ears to huskily whisper, “Hi baby girl,” he kisses your ear after, kissing along your jawline and neck as you gasp at him.

“H-Hoon-” you hiss at the pressure he puts on a sensitive part of your neck, messing and tugging on his hair. “Your sister is going to be ready at any time now.”

Sunghoon grunts at the reminder of your true visit, yet still makes love to your collarbones to cherish every second with you. “Not yet…” he pleads that time will go slower. 

The hand behind your head joins the other side of your body, slithering down to the back of your thighs as Sunghoon kneels, continuing to trail his kisses to your clothed stomach. With a swift motion, he carries you by your thighs, standing up and walking towards his bed. He never spared a moment where his lips didn't touch your heated body. There was no time for your heart to calm its racing pace, the adrenaline of staying quiet hitting you both. 

Now seated on his bed with you straddling his built thighs, you take this moment to fully open your eyes, seeing the white light shine upon his red cheeks. His palm cups the apple of your cheeks, foreheads resting as you catch your breaths. 

“Can't get enough of you,” he mutters. “I just want and need you all the time…”

Sunghoon is cute when he's lovesick like this, your cheeks instantly heating more than before at his confession. You hum, “I love you, Hoon.”

“I love you much more.”

His orbs sparkle upon yours sincerely for a second until his open lips come closer to claim yours again. You're millimetres apart when the door opens unexpectedly behind you. Your body reacts first, jumping away from Sunghoon, pushing him flat onto the bed as you pull your clothes to straighten the creases of the makeout. 

Serin covers her eyes even if you both are detached, the split second burning into her memory. “I knew you guys were together, but I didn't know it was getting spicy here!”

Sunghoon’s body springs up from the mattress, “You knew yet you still came in?!”

“Wait, that's what you're worried about?!” you exclaim with wide eyes at your boyfriend. “You knew all this time?!” Questioning the grinning sister at the door.

“I know I just kind of exposed you, but don't expose me!” Serin shouts as she retreats to a safer part of the house.

“What does that mean?!” The clueless brother runs out to interrogate his sibling while you're left dumbfounded at what just happened in the last few seconds. 

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 enhypen masterlist

tags: @k-films @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet

@haneul-and-clouds @sunlightwoo @hursheys

[spideyhexx]

A miscellaneous night with mr coriolanus snow

this is longer than it was meant to be but also happy bday to me for writing😭enjoy :)

Coriolanus internally winced at the state of the elevator when he gestured for you to walk into the lobby of his apartment building. He was hoping all day that it would be magically fixed by maintenance, but he should have known better. 

He brushes his hair back at his left side and clears his throat, gesturing towards the stairs, “We’ll have to take those, I apologize.”

“No worries. We need the walking after taking the trolley,” you chuckle and nudge your elbow into his side, letting him take the lead. 

Coriolanus tries his hardest not to touch the spot on his side that you touched, afraid it’ll make his cheeks flush more than they already are. He manages a small laugh in response to your words. He had been adamant the two of you take the trolley since it was dark out and then adamant that he paid for you both. It was his last two tokens. Something he’ll tell himself tomorrow was a slip-up, but for now it was the best decision he could have made. 

You typically studied with him in the library after classes, but as of late, Coriolanus found talking about anything and everything with you to be more than splendid. Perhaps it’s because you knew of the Snow's state and never made a snide comment about it. Or the way your posture was ever so perfect. The way your leg crossed over the other, poised gracefully more times than not. There was an air of elegance about you, yet the way you spoke so kindly to him, so interested in him, reminded him of something warm and comforting. Not the fake elegance that many of his Capitol peers put on to form alliances and kiss-up to the ones above them. No. You were genuine, he decided, a long while ago. 

When the two of you reach his door, he takes the key out and turns it in the lock, silently praying that his grandmother was asleep already. To his luck, neither her or his cousin are in sight, and he locks the door behind him after you step in, setting the keys in a small dish tray in the foyer. 

“We can go to my room if you uh…,” he trails off as you look around the living space with a curious glint in your eye. 

Your eyes find the stained glass portrait of his father and he almost wants to yell your name to bring your attention to…to what? The fireplace? Dirty. The couch? Stiff. Himself? Too conceited. 

But you don’t speak a word on it and he breathes a sigh of relief. Your eyes fall on the stray mannequin draped in some dark blue fabrics and a smile graces your lips, “I suspect this is Tigris’ doing?”

“Yes. Her friend lent her some fabrics to mess with, but she hasn’t made a choice on what to do yet exactly. I don’t know why this is out here,” Coriolanus says as he takes a few steps closer to be at your side. 

“There’s good light in here,” you suggest, glancing to the windows where you can see the dilapidated building across the street. 

Coriolanus nods and follows your eyesight. He shifts on his heels, then toes, hands clasped to the strap of his book bag, “If I’m not doing my reading in my bedroom, it’s usually out here.”

The grin you give him almost makes him forget why he invited you over. Ah, yes. He had told you he had an edition of a history book written by your great uncle, that you so desperately wanted to get your hands on. Your family had none (because said uncle went rogue and joined the districts). Coriolanus is not sure why he had the book in his possession in the first place. It had to have been at the Academy and he forgot to return it, but after the uncle fled to whatever district he left for, they threw out any and all books written by the man. 

Part of him thinks he should be concerned as to why you want the book, but he’s read it himself. There’s nothing radical there that could turn you into something else to his memory. He offered to give the book to you. Coriolanus planned on bringing it to class the next day to give to you but you insisted it would be better to hand it off privately. He had a sneaking suspicion you just did not want to go home, but he didn’t push. 

At first, he was hesitant to let you come to his apartment. He had a multitude of plans in place to specifically keep his friends from not coming to his apartment. But he couldn’t find it in himself to follow any of them when it involved you. 

When he realizes it’s been silent for too long, he clears his throat, “My room is just this way,” and walks down the hall, wincing to himself at the creaky floorboards. 

He turns the knob and at first, the door doesn’t open. Coriolanus pushes his shoulder against his door as subtly as he can, which pushes it open and his cheeks heat up at your small chuckle. 

His room is not messy, but nothing to write home about. The only thing a little messy is his dresser, which had a drawer open a shirt hanging out of it that he quickly, subtly, pushes into the drawer and closes it. 

“Oh my god,” you say and he freezes, wondering what he’s left out that warrants that reaction. 

He watches you walk over to his bed and point at the stuffed dog that lies next to his pillow. He’d like to be swallowed whole right about now. 

“That’s so cute. He needs a wash though.”

You think it’s cute? Oh, he’s in over his head. 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, he needs a wash, I guess,” Coriolanus mutters, putting his book bag down on his desk chair and watching you carefully pick it up. 

“Does he have a name?”

“Horace.”

“Naturally,” you mumble, holding the stuffed dog up as though you are examining it. “I like him.”

“Just don’t go telling everyone at school, they’ll have a whole laugh about it,” he chuckles. He’s trying to come off as joking, but he’s also maybe completely serious. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Coryo, I won’t mention it.” You put the dog down gently next to his pillow, patting it’s head twice, then you set your book bag on the floor. 

He gestures to his room once your eyes meet his, “I know this isn’t much but-”

“Coryo.” 

The look you give him makes him shut his mouth and he lets his shoulders ease only the slightest bit. He barely realized how tense he had been. 

“It’s still your room. That’s nice. I don’t care what it looks like,” you tell him and each word hits right through to his heart. 

He nods and then clears his throat, turning to his small bookshelf to find the book for you, “It might be a little dusty, but I haven’t touched it since I read it.” Pulling out the gray spine of the book, he blows over it, grimacing at the dust and then brushes off the cover, handing it over to you. 

Coriolanus feels a sense of pride in his chest at how happy you look, clutching it to yourself and then looking at the forward, “Thank you, Coryo. I’ll let you cheat off my biology exam for this.”

He chuckles, “I don’t need that.”

“I know,” you say, and a lull falls over the two of you. For the first time, he sees you be the one to clear your throat awkwardly and you bend down to grab your bag. 

Coriolanus thinks himself a respectful man, but he does look at your thighs as you do. He rationalizes that it’s fine because that one time in seventh grade he was pantsed and you saw his thighs so who cares if now he’s-

“Coryo.” 

He blinks and returns his gaze to your face, “yes?” 

“Is it cool if I stay a little longer?”

He’s nodding before he’s speaking, but maybe he should have thought it through. Maybe it was bad to have you stay. Distraction. That’s what you are, really. Or are you? You do study with him and the studying has definitely helped him over the past year. So is it really a distraction? 

Staying a little longer turns into two hours passing.

Coriolanus tells you about his neighbors across the street and how he loves people watching from his window. You relay your own people watching stories and he shares laughs harder than he has in recent weeks. 

You’ve migrated to his bed, feet on the ground, but your back against the stiff mattress. Coriolanus sits backwards in his desk chair, facing you, and after another bout of silence, he says, “That cannot be comfortable.”

“It is if you tell yourself it is.”

He snorts. Since when does he do that?

“No. I know my bed. That’s not comfortable,” he sighs, “I’m sure your bed is miles better.”

Your face twists up into an emotion he cannot decipher. Distaste? Disgust? Contempt? Whatever it is, he feels as though he’s said something wrong, so he jumps to say, “I didn’t mean like-”

“It is more comfortable, but I’m okay here.”

Coriolanus wonders if he’s on the precipice of learning something new about you. He’s never been to your residence. Only heard of your high-achieving father and high-achieving mother. You rarely talked about them, other than to occasionally complain about their pressure on you. 

“Will they be worried about where you are right now? Your parents, I mean,” he says in the softest tone he can muster. He prepares what to say in case you blow him off. 

“I called them while we were in the library. When you went to the bathroom.”

“Ah,” he nods, “And?”

“And…they don’t mind. Though I should go back before midnight,” you glance over at his small clock on his nightstand. “I would just rather be anywhere else tonight. It's too stuffy there.”

Coriolanus wants to laugh. Stuffy? In your nice, expensive, big apartment? “Why’s that?”

“Cause they just…,” you trail off and gesture aimlessly with your hand, “they’re always a lot, okay? But on my birthday? Fuck, they’re even worse. I would much rather spend it with someone I like, hence,” you gesture again, but to him this time. 

Coriolanus wants to celebrate the small victory that you like him, but he pauses. “Birthday? It’s your birthday?”

You turn your head so you’re able to see him while still laying down, “yeah.”

His eyes widen then he chuckles, “and you didn’t mention?” He feels bad he didn’t know. He should have, right? But the fact you hadn’t told him and he didn’t see anyone mentioning your birthday today tells him you seldom want people to know. 

“Didn’t feel the need to.”

“Right. Well, happy birthday to you,” he says, his voice having a slight sing-songy lilt to it at the end and it gets you laughing. He can’t wait to tell Tigris about this tomorrow.

“Thank you, Coryo. And I meant it. I’m glad to be spending it here with you,” you say and he watches your hands fiddle like you’re nervous. 

A rush of boldness overcomes him and he stands from the desk chair and plops down on his bed right next to you, his arm fully against yours. Shoulder to shoulder. Coriolanus stares at the ceiling, inhaling deep, “I wish I knew how to bake. I’d make you…I don’t know…double-double chocolate cake?”

“You remembered!” 

He laughs and nods, recalling the very chocolatey cake you had three slices of at a party the Plinth’s were throwing a couple of months ago. He wonders if that’s the day he decided you were worth being distracted. 

“Do you remember my favorite pie?” 

You narrow your eyes to think, turning to look at him. He mimics the face you’re making, which causes you both to dissolve into giggles. 

“Blackberry. Or pecan,” you finally say and he nods, “Yes to both.”

His index finger twitches and touches your fingers as he studies your face. The soft smile on your lips and the slight tiredness in your eyes. Your hair is less kept than it had been earlier, which feels so unlike you, but you are being so you right now that it doesn’t matter in the slightest. He’s sure his own curls are out of order. 

Coriolanus keeps lightly lingering his fingers on yours, his voice a drop quieter, “Do you ever think that…everything you’ve worked hard for…can be lost because you…care too much?”

You look taken aback at the question at first, then you settle. His heart jumps when you let your hand hold to his instead of the dance your fingers had been doing. “I guess sometimes I do. Caring a lot is painful in many ways but…it’s also…”

“Nice,” he finishes in a whisper. Coriolanus doesn’t intend to look at your lips, but he does and he’s sure you notice. 

“It’s nice and…shows others how passionate you truly are.” You decide, playing with his fingers instead of your own. 

“But isn’t it also a weakness? Something others can pick out and use against you?”

Your brow furrows slightly in thought, “Sure…but you just have to be smarter than those against you so they can’t exploit it. And I happen to know for a fact that you, Coriolanus Snow, are one of the smartest people I have and will ever meet.”

The weight in his chest melts and smiles, not sure how to respond to such a grand compliment, other than saying, “Snow lands on top.”

It makes you laugh. A full laugh that has you gripping to his hand firmly and somehow bringing the two of you closer until you rest your chin near his shoulder, “You’re aware that that is extremely cheesy, right?”

“Oh, always,” he mumbles, and takes that risk of looking at your lips in a more obvious way, and he tries to convince himself that he’s imagining it when you shift closer. Your nose brushes and he envisions a world where he can kiss you whenever he wants. Where he can make you happy and laugh the way you just did forever. 

“At least you’re self-aware.”

“I’m incredibly self-aware,” Coriolanus mutters, as your nose brushes and nudges to his. It’s like a dance of who’s gonna make the jump first. 

You grin and bite your cheek to lessen it. His heart feels like bursting out of his chest and he wishes he wasn’t holding your hand because he’s definitely getting clammy. But he can’t think of that. There’s no way Coriolanus can dwell on the other parts of his body when your lips are so close that he can feel your breath on his lips. That he can see your eyes go through the thought process, wondering if you should kiss him or if you should let him kiss you first. 

You’re not sure who does it first, but your lips meet in a gentle touch. Hesitant on both ends, yet searing with an undeniable surge of something warm. Something satisfying. Coriolanus is the one to deepen it. Squeezing to your hand (for his sake), he tilts his head and kisses you deeper, memorizing the feel of your lips on his. When you shift on the bed to turn more towards him, he doesn't break the kiss, not even when he feels your hand rest near the collar of his shirt, like you’re tugging him in. 

When you inevitably break for a breath, he chases after you, only to pause and clear his throat from embarrassment. 

“Sorry, I was just-” Your lips find his once more and Coriolanus melts into it, letting you bring his hand to the side of your face right when your tongue slides along his lower lip. He hopes he’s not a bad kisser, but when you hum into his mouth and rub your hand to his neck, the confidence surges in him. 

He’s not sure how long the two of you kiss, on and off, tongue and no tongue, wandering hands that never quite go to places more intimate. But when you break off and duck your head into his neck, resting against his side, he doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around you and bring you closer. His lips find the top of your head, kissing there, and rubbing your arm. 

When you fall asleep against him, he fights with himself over whether to wake you and get you home safely, or to let you stay there in his arms. Coriolanus will mull it over in a couple of minutes. For now, he relishes in the moment. Who knows if he’ll let himself have it again. 

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎRose Blush౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: fake dating pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader author’s note: been awhile since I've done a coryo fic hehe hope you enjoy <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Coriolanus stifled a yawn, forcing himself to stare at the sheet of paper in front of him. The words were blurring into each other, and he wasn't even sure what class he was in anymore.

The girl he'd taken out last night had been talkative to say the least. The servers at the restaurant had begun to clean up around them until Coriolanus had finally stood up and practically announced that he had an early morning and so they should call it a night.

She'd been fine with it, but when they had pulled up outside her house and he bid her farewell, she'd talked for another hour. It was midnight by the time he got home. Even know he could hear her voice grating at the insides of his mind. It was decidedly hard to focus.

At least she didn't attend the university. He wasn't sure if he could stand seeing her around here after that disaster of a night. It was the seventh in a lineup of women he'd been propositioned to take out. Old family traditions practically required it, and he'd entertained the notion. After all, if he wanted to get anywhere in the realm of politics, he'd need a wife at his side.

But the crop of debutantes proved disappointing. Charmless, rude, annoying. After last night, he'd had it. If it meant he'd have to attend every charity event and gala and dinner by himself, that was just fine. At least he'd be awake for school.

Even if he did that, he wouldn't be able to get away. The elder wealthy women of the Capitol were relentless, pushing their daughters or granddaughters in his direction. An eligible younger man was one of the worst things to be at social events. He attended to make connections, not flirt with every woman in the vicinity.

Now his jaw stretched in a yawn he reached up to cover just in time. Maybe he could skip the hour of study he usually took in the library and head straight home. He'd undoubtedly be turning in early tonight.

"Late night?" you asked sympathetically, blinking at him through your glasses.

Coriolanus nodded, fixing his tired eyes on you. A tiny smile graced your lips, and he felt a little more awake because of it. "Yes." You were another library regular, always lost behind a towering stack of books and scribbling something in your pink notebook. But the way he knew of you went beyond sharing space and having one or two classes together.

His last name was famous because of his father, one in a long line of important ancestors who shaped Panem in some way. Yours was for an entirely different reason.

The things people used to whisper about you when you were both still in the Academy were far from dignified. About your father's cowardice. The way your mother took a nightlife line of work after he deserted both the military and your family. Your brothers were nothing but trouble in the eyes of the public- drunks who caused a world of trouble in the streets.

He remembered seeing you during the war. Clinging to your mother's hand, a pair of teenagers lurking behind her. Tigris always had sympathy for you in particular. "She hasn't done anything, but because she was born in the wrong family everyone's awful to her." He always agreed. But he had enough problems of his own.

Class was dismissed, and you stood, folding your books back into place and keeping your head down as you made your way out of the room. He noticed people turning to each other, watching as you disappeared. Their whispers were no doubt unfavorable.

Coriolanus re-packed his textbook, wandering out into the hallway. Thinking about the war and his association of you with it had left him feeling some kind of way. He looked at his watch, any notions of tiredness suddenly fleeing. Maybe he'd head to the library after all.

You were there when he arrived, already writing in your notebook, head down, finger tapping at a line on an open page. Always the perfect student. He remembered that about you.

Turning to his usual table, he froze when he saw who was seated behind it. While his date last night didn't attend the university, several of his previous ones did, and two of them were sitting in a group of girls where he usually did. Ducking his head and hoping they didn't see him, he made for your table without thinking, pulling out a chair roughly and setting himself down.

When he looked at you, your eyes were already on him, brows knit in confusion. Coriolanus felt a twinge of sympathy. You likely weren't used to company like this.

"Can I help you?" The way you asked wasn't unkind. He stared at you for a moment, something brewing within. Your hair was pulled back, but a little strand had fallen from the clip at the back of your head, touching your cheek so delicately that he doubted you'd noticed.

The pack of girls giggled behind him. He leaned forward, words falling from his lips before he could stop them.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Pretend?" You leaned against the wall in the hallway where he'd ushered you, instinctively covering the strap of your bag. Coriolanus remembered briefly how fellow students at the Academy used to steal and hide your books from you.

"Pretend," he confirmed, resisting the urge to shift on his feet. "We would pretend to be...together."

"Why?" You asked it in such a non-judgmental way. Eyes innocent, lips parted just barely as you waited for his response.

Straightening, Coriolanus tried to explain clearly. "I need someone to be with me at different events. So it looks like I'm unavailable. To other women."

You tilted your head. "Why?"

He didn't feel like explaining his views on love at the moment. But your eyes were so earnest, and he almost felt like he could tell you every detail about his entire life and you'd listen. So he didn't lie. "I can't have a serious relationship right now."

"Hmm." Nodding, you bit the side of your cheek, looking to the side. "So what does this mean? I'd have to go to parties...but what else?"

"Dates, potentially." Coriolanus was a little surprised you were taking this so lightly. Any other girl would have laughed, maybe, or tried to turn the situation around. But you were simply listening, acting like you were taking it seriously. "We'd have to be seen together."

"Do I get anything out of it?" You were looking back into his eyes now.

He nearly did a double take. This was the most he'd ever heard you speak. "You could be compensated-"

"No. Don't pay me," you interrupted, shaking your head and looking away again. "It's too much like...it wouldn't feel right to me."

Coriolanus watched you, suddenly remembering one of the things he'd heard others say about your mother and how she earned a living. He didn't know what you'd been exposed to, but based on your expression, it couldn't be good. "Okay. Is there anything else you want?"

You thought for a moment, perking up a bit. "You have connections. And influence. Is there any chance you could use it...um..." Trailing off, your cheeks flushed.

"What?" His tone softened involuntarily.

Letting go of your bag, you began to fidget with your hands. "At the tuition offices, maybe?"

"Ah." He didn't mean to say it out loud, quickly remedying when you began to turn away, eyes on the ground. "Yes, of course. I'll see what I can do." It wouldn't be hard. Heaven knew how many times he'd had to butter up on charm for a discount for himself. Getting it for someone else would be a walk in the park.

"Okay." You looked back up. "Thank you."

"So we have a deal?" Coriolanus found himself nearly holding his breath. He almost kicked himself. An hour ago you were merely the youngest child of a disgraced family, only a classmate to him. But now you were the potential answer to his problems.

He couldn't say why he'd done it. Why he hadn't taken back what he'd said in the library and moved on. Seeing you look up at him had flipped a switch in his mind. Something about you was just...different.

After so many outings with women of his social class, he had come to know the way they all looked at him. There was a glint of hunger, and he knew what it was for. Money, power status. All packaged into one little look. You had more reason than any of them to have it, and he may have excused it if he did see it. But even when you were shyly asking him to use his connections, he didn't see it once.

Maybe that was why his heart practically jumped when you quietly said, "Yes." The way you responded was so meek. You were back to holding your bag strap, and another strand of hair had left your ponytail.

His heart jumped again. He'd have to get that under control if he was going to be spending so much time with you.

"Is this really necessary?"

Coriolanus took a sip of champagne before setting his glass down, staring at the curtain you were behind. You poked your head out, your ponytail falling over your shoulder. "I have plenty of clothes."

He knew that wasn't true. The sweater you'd worn to school that day had a hole in the shoulder and the hem, and he'd seen a new one under one of the arms when you reached for something on the counter. Even though you'd fixed your elbow back to the side almost immediately, he knew what he'd seen. It was third of a rotation of four sweaters he'd seen you in, and none of the others were in much better shape.

If he let you wear the same worn-out hand me downs as before, the relationship wouldn't be believable. Were you and him truly together, he would spoil you beyond belief.

"Yes," he responded, looking you in the eye. "It's necessary. Show me the first dress."

You exited, one hand tugging at the side of the silky black dress he'd picked out for you. "This is pretty."

"It is," he agreed, watching you look at yourself in the full-length mirror. The fabric clung to you everywhere it should, the slit in the leg not climbing high enough to be inappropriate. His eyes became fixed to the exposed sliver of your thigh for a moment before he shook it off. "We'll take that one. Try the others on too."

Pausing before you reached the fitting room, he saw you cup something in your hand, your neck bending to look at it. Whipping back around to Coriolanus, you took a step toward him with wide eyes. "This is too much."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Too much?"

You lowered your voice, eyes darting around the room even though it was just the two of you right then. "The price is too high." Shifting forward a little, you turned to the side, holding out the rounded tag so he could see.

Not bothering to look, Coriolanus shook his head. "It's fine. Go try another one."

"But-" You did a quick check of the room again before continuing. "I don't want you to spend so much on me."

"We still have to go to shoes and jewelry." Coriolanus pretended to check his watch, and you scurried back behind the curtain.

The rest of the dresses were a breeze. You slowly became more comfortable with it, fidgeting less with the fabric and standing up straight. By the last dress, he could nearly believe you were a high-born Capitol lady. Good. That was something to work with. He handed you off to one of the department store employees when you got to shoes and jewelry, wandering off to pick out a stack of new sweaters in your size.

He'd whispered a few extra instructions to the woman you'd walked off with, so after he'd handed over his card, he made himself comfortable in the furnished waiting area, accepting another glass of champagne. He pulled one of his schoolbooks out, figuring he'd knock out a bit of reading since you had both skipped the library to be here.

When you were brought back to him, your hair was tied up, and you were holding a small paper shopping bag. Coriolanus stood. You were back in the clothes you'd arrived in. "Where are the rest of your bags?"

"At the register," you said, biting the inside of your cheek. "This is more than I need-"

"What's in here?" he asked, gesturing to the bag you were holding.

He wanted to thumb your bottom lip away from your teeth. You were going to get a sore. "Hair things. And perfume. But Coriolanus-" Momentarily distracted by how your voice sounded around his name, he forced himself to listen. "-I can't bring any of this home."

"Why not?"

"My mother might..." you flushed. He nodded, urging you on. "The clothes would be fine because we don't wear the same size. But everything in here..." holding up the bag, you looked dejected. "She might take it and say it's for...clients."

"I see." He mulled it over for a moment, flipping through ideas. There was no way he'd ever admit it, but he knew the plight of having to guard fine possessions.

"Maybe I'll be able to hide it," you tried, swaying the bag. "I need to shower tonight with these. Maybe I can just hide them after I'm done."

"Here." Coriolanus held out his hand. When you hesitated, his voice dropped to a whisper. "We're supposed to be together."

You laced your fingers through his, and he picked up both your school bags and slung them over his opposite shoulder. The payment was already taken care of, and he knew the bags would have been brought out to the car already. Holding his head high, he guided you through the store, making sure you didn't fall behind him.

Once in the car, he turned the key and said casually. "We're going to mine."

"Why?" You pressed your knees together, brow knit once again. One day he'd like to take his thumb and smooth it out.

"So you can shower." Coriolanus pulled into the street, smoothly weaving through the few other cars out at this hour. "I'll have you home in time."

"Coriolanus," you said exasperatedly. "You already spent more on me today than anyone has in my life. You don't need to pretend with me in private too."

That snagged his attention. "It's not pretending with this. You..." Your eyes were on him, he could feel it. The pure magnetism of your being directed him to look back, and he would have had he not been driving. "You deserve nice things." There was more he could have said, but he left it at that. You were silent all the way to his penthouse.

The look on your face was similar to the one he'd seen when you first walked into the department store. You tried to play it off, but he knew the feeling well. Coriolanus' entire upbringing had been hinged on pretending not to have it. You hid it well, but he could still see the hints of it.

Coriolanus showed you to his bathroom, flipping the light on and setting you up with your new soap and perfume. He left you alone, wishing Tigris was here to balance things out. You needed a woman's touch, that much was clear.

He stayed in the living room after bringing one of the bags with your new sweaters and skirts inside, trying to pretend like he wasn't intrigued by the idea of you in clothes that weren't ill fitting.

It's not real, he reminded himself, staring at the notebook on the table. She's not your girlfriend. It's natural to be curious. It's just a girl in your bathroom.

"Coriolanus?"

His head snapped up. "Yes?"

"Um." There was a pause. "I'm bleeding."

"Bleeding?" Coriolanus leapt to his feet, rushing to the door. He pushed it open without thinking, greeted by the sight of you with a towel wrapped around your body, sitting on the bench in front of his bed. You were bent over, holding your hand to your leg, and when you looked up, your eyes were panicked.

"I cut myself when I was shaving," you said, voice small. "I'm sorry. I tried not to get blood on anything and I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," he cut you off, disappearing into the bathroom and retrieving a band-aid from the cabinet, wetting one of his maroon washcloths before he went back to you. "Here."

You took the cloth, pressing it to the affected area and wincing a bit. Coriolanus sat with you on the bench, keeping about a foot of distance.

The towel was low on your chest, nearly exposing the tops of your breasts. Similarly, it hardly covered the tops of your thighs. More skin than likely anyone had ever seen from you. You hardly seemed concerned about it, brow knit over something trivial.

"I'm sorry," you repeated, looking up at him. He passed you the band-aid, and you very carefully peeled back the washcloth, and smoothed the sticky fabric over your skin.

"It's okay," he promised, a sense of familiarity washing over him that he wished he could shake off. "You're okay." Your wet hair was clinging to your shoulders, and it was easier to see the trimming you'd gotten in the department store.

He had to get out of there. "I'll be in the other room."

There was something about you that weakened him. That much was clear. Maybe he could back out of the deal, leave you with this one day of shopping and an awkward moment after you used his shower and go back to normal. Ignoring each other.

When you weren't wearing your glasses, he could see how pretty your eyes were. He inhaled sharply, swallowing and tapping a finger on the table. Back out. Definitely back out. This wasn't a good idea.

When you emerged from his bedroom, he had a speech prepared, but it all flew from his mind when he saw you fresh-faced and clean in your new sweater and skirt. You smiled, turning around and showing him the back. "Good?"

You inched closer, and he almost felt like he could see the difference. Some of the stress in your face had melted away, making you look younger almost. Between that and the clothes, you looked...pretty.

He stood, torn pieces of what he had been about to say coming back. "Good." Anything else he was about to say died on his lips when he inhaled, catching the scent of your perfume.

Roses. Coriolanus clenched his jaw.

Maybe he could manage to see this through.

[thecranberriesslut]

Californication

Summary: You and your best friends dad commit sin on family vacay.

Pairing: no-outbreak! Joel Miller x Fem!Reader ’Cara’

Wc: about 3k

Warnings: The age gap is girthyyyy (Joel is 40-something, reader is 18), dirty themes, smut, read at your own risk, inappropriate jokes.

Notes: It’s my first fanfic posted on this account so please be nice, also english is not my first language so sorry for any typos, also you decided to read this so don’t complain about the age cap, it’s legal guys…

Californication Pt. 2

The sky is bleeding shades of gold and orange over the navy blue early morning shade, only a couple of stars still visible from the night before. You shift in your bed uncomfortably, not having been able to sleep almost the entire night, mostly due to pure excitement. Luckily, your alarm sounds, and you get up to turn it off. 7:01, you manage to make out as your eyes adjust to the morning hue. You gather your honey-blonde hair and tie it up, so it's out of your face. As you retrieve your phone from charging on your bedside table, you see 4 new messages from Sarah, your best friend since grade school, right when you moved to the suburbs from New York.

You love Sarah, you have from the very first moment you met her. When you had just moved to a new house, and you felt all blue until you saw a beautiful blonde girl about your age in the yard next to yours-- wearing denim overalls with flowers on them, reading a book and eating a strawberry popsicle. She saw you looking through the window, and yelled to ask you whether you wanted a popsicle too. Sarah was an angel-- unfortunately, you were the fucking devil, especially when it came to Sarah's father.

Joel Miller-- You had begun to notice his appeal in the seventh grade, right around the time you started feeling things while watching that one scene in titanic. When you happened to scrape your knee outside Sarah's house and Joel had to patch you up. He lifted you onto their bathroom counter and placed a hello kitty band-aid on your knee, while looking up at you with his dark brown, captivating eyes and giving your knee a kiss. He told you that you were such a good girl for being so brave. You, being a horny 13-year-old, thought about that for months. He was your sexual awakening.

And now you're 18, still not able to look at him without your face growing hot, and your knees nearly giving out, going on spring vacation to Palm springs with your parents, Sarah, and Joel.

“Cara, are you up? We're leaving in two hours, with or without you!”

You hear your mom's perky voice yell from downstairs, she can be quite dramatic. But you wouldn't change her for anything.

“Yeah, mom!”

You quickly gather yourself and make a mental note to not think absolutely anything dirty about Joel 'sex god' Miller while on vacation. You answer Sarah's anxiously worded texts about what to pack for the vacation, and whether she can wear a bikini or will your mom think it's too whorish. The thing you love about Sarah is how much she thinks about stuff, she knows your mom loves her, and still, she's worried. You tell Sarah not to worry, and that you'd already packed, because you can think ahead too. You move onto picking an outfit for the trip.

It has to be something cute, but not too cute so my parents don't get suspicious-- but Joel has to like it.

You think to yourself, and then go on to curse yourself for thinking about Joel, and what he might like. You need to get yourself together. He's like 40, not to mention your best friend's father. You settle on some classic Levi's 501 shorts and a white Brandy Melville long sleeve, because the morning dew can cause a chilliness in the air. You decide on no makeup, and to wear your hair down, unstyled. You hurriedly grab the last of your things, phone charger, bikini-- a book.

Furthermore, you grab a Red Bull from the fridge quickly before you make it down to the driveway. Sarah's already sitting in the backseat of your moms gray sedan, and Joel's loading up their stuff. You feel weak as you see Joel, he's wearing a black t shirt that shows off his sweat glazed biceps and that damn cross necklace hanging around his neck. God-- there's something in you melting right now, and it is not from the heat outside.

“Hey darlin', need any help with that?”

Joel asks, in his low voice, smooth like whiskey, topped with the most charming southern drawl imaginable.

“Uhm, yeah! Thanks, Mr. Miller.”

You smile at him as you hand over your suitcase, trying to paint your face with an attractive smile, it is probably coming off as shy and adolescent if anything. Joel smiles back, the kind of smile that could stop traffic, and he pats you on your lower back, his hand lingering there for a second too long to be considered innocent. Even after he lets go, the heat of his big hand lingers there.

“It's no problem, a pretty lil' girl like you shouldn't be doin' heavy lifting, go on sit down, Sarah's in the car already.”

You go in the car, ready to blame the heat for your fiery crimson cheeks if it comes up. You hug Sarah excitedly and your parents carry the rest of the stuff to the car. You almost choke on your Red Bull as you see Joel opening the back door and motioning you to sit in the middle so he can fit in the back. Reluctantly, you move to the middle seat, as close to Sarah as possible, so you don't accidentally brush up against her smoke show of a father and go even more red than you knew to be humanly possible.

---------

After a long 5-hour drive of sitting next to Joel as still as you could, avoiding sliding closer to him during bumps in the road, and trying not to look at the slight bulge in his shorts. You were exhausted. You were so aroused and embarrassed, you feared that in the span of 5 hours Joel had noticed your horniness, had thought it was super gross, and had somehow telepathically told your parents about it. You were pulled out of your thoughts as the car came to a stop in front of a gorgeous white beach villa and Joel patted your thigh.

“Finally here, bet you're dyin' to stretch those legs, huh?”

He fucking knew. And now you needed to find the nearest hole in the ground and bury yourself in it. You just let out an awkward laugh as he got out of the car, and tried to console yourself.

He doesn't know anything, you are being paranoid.

You and Sarah managed to get out of the car, and you almost dropped your phone when you saw it.

“There's a huge fucking pool!”

You yelled in utter shock and excitement.

“Watch your mouth, young lady!”

Your dad yelled from behind the car. You and Sarah just laughed as you ran inside the villa, the tile floor freezing in contrast to the scorching hot air, you ran to the biggest bedroom and claimed it for you and Sarah. There was a huge king-sized bed laying in the middle of the room with expensive looking white sheets, and pillow mints set on the pillows.

“I could get used to this.”

You exclaimed, joking with a certain sense of indifference, as you unwrapped the pillow-mint. Sarah only laughed and said something about her dad, before he appeared in the doorway with our bags.

“Speak of the devil.”

Sarah said.

“You were talkin' 'bout me?”

Joel asked, a smug smile on his face, as he set our bags down with ease. The veins in his forearms prominent as his muscles bulged. He was strong, like-- incredibly strong, those bags weighed a lot, and he lifted them with not as much as a grunt. His rich dark brown hair fell over his eyes and he pulled it back with his hands, revealing some gray salt and pepper hairs underneath.

“Yeah, Cara was saying how embarrassing you were in the car.”

Sarah said nonchalantly, rolling her eyes and smiling at you. You were horrified. First of all, you were already terrified of Joel and now the fact that he probably thought you disliked him.

“I didn't say that! I-”

You defended yourself frantically, until Joel interrupted you.

“Sure you didn't, you lil' troublemaker. Your dad 'oughta teach you a lesson about respectin' adults.”

He joked. You couldn't say anything back, just stare at him as he turned to leave the room.

“Gosh, my dad's embarrassing.”

Sarah complained.

“No he's fine.”

You said quietly. Joel's jokes sounded like normal jokes to everyone else, but if you were a horny 18-year-old avid dirty book reader, his jokes always had a dirty undertone to them. Like that one time he suggested he bend you over and spank you for stealing some of his beers with Sarah. His words always had an effect on you, and sometimes you felt like he was doing it on purpose. Although every time he joked, you tried to hide behind your shy, enigmatic personality and not reveal that you had just gotten hornier than ever.

You had all settled in by the time the sun was starting to set, your parents had gone out for a walk and Sarah wanted to go scout the surrounding area for shops and things to do. So you were alone at the villa-- with Joel. You hadn't dared to leave your room yet, but your stomach was begging you to go get food already, and you had no other choice. So you gathered your courage and went into the kitchen, Joel was nowhere to be seen. You opened up the fridge to see a tuna sandwich, and came to the conclusion that it was probably for the road trip, and you could eat it now. So you took a bite, and felt someone's eyes on you, you turned around to see Joel wearing only his swimming trunks, hair soaking wet, and his abs glistening, as he dried them with a white towel.

“So... now the naughty girl is stealin' sandwiches too, huh?”

He accused you playfully, while dragging the towel across his body lazily, as if trying to torture you.

“What? I- I didn't know this was yours-”

You were quick to defend yourself.

“Relax, Cara.”

He said, a sly smile painting his beautiful face. The way your name rolled off his tongue felt like a direct attack to the tough exterior you were trying to keep up around him, and it went straight to your core.

“I'm jus' jokin' with you, you're always so tense around me, why is that?”

He asked, his voice remaining velvety smooth.

“Uhm... no, I'm not.”

You tried to sound convincing, you didn't. The way you fidgeted with your shirt hem and always slightly lowered your head when you spoke to him, suggested that you were genuinely afraid of him. But you weren't, just head over heels in lust. Wrongful lust.

“You jus' seem nervous is all... is everything all right?”

He asked as he walked slowly closer, like a predatory cat, he was a tall man, well over 6 foot. As he got closer, he started to tower over you in an intimidating but undeniably attractive manner. His build was strong, he looked like a man who could throw you across the room and not break a sweat.

“I'm not nervous.”

You lied. He looked at you knowingly, like a teacher who had just caught you cheating and was about to embarrass you in front of the entire classroom. He brought his big rugged hand to your forehead and made a caressing motion, you were confused until he held his hand to the light and confronted you.

“You're sweatin', and it ain't even that hot in here, you're also red as a beet.”

He smiled, having caught you in a lie. You were about to say something, but he stopped you.

“You know, lyin's not nice-- only bad girls lie.”

“What are you, my father?”

You clapped back, soon to realize that was a mistake. Because he placed his hand on your chin gently, but in a way that was meant to intimidate you, and forced you to look straight in his dark, scary eyes.

“No, and you're damn lucky I ain't, cause I'd sure as hell punish you for lyin' to me, make you respect your daddy.”

Your eyes widened in shock, and you could feel the familiar redness rising to your cheeks. He dropped your chin and laughed a hearty laugh.

"Listen, kiddo, I'm jus' messin' with ya.”

“Oh!”

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding and tried to shake off your dirty thoughts.

He didn't say anything sexual, you are just a weird ass dirty minded virgin.

“And I'd work on hidin' your emotions better. Gettin' all worked up by your best friend's father callin' himself daddy-- you are one sick puppy.”

His crude words should have disgusted you, you should've felt gross or violated or something, but you didn't. All your feelings were overpowered by one. Complete intoxicating arousal, purely from his words. You didn't have a lot of time to gather yourself when you heard the door and saw Sarah walking inside with something in her hands.

“What do you have?”

You asked, curious. Sarah held the items up, and you could make out two bagels and two diet cokes. You smiled like you had just seen a million dollars.

“I love you so much!”

You screamed as you ran for the bagels.

“I thought you'd probably be starving, I found this cute ass little café down the road.”

You took the bagels and headed to your room. Feeling extremely guilty about what had happened with her dad just moments prior, how could he just say something so-- vigorous out of nowhere, and now you had to pretend it didn't happen. You placed the bagels on the bed and changed your denim shorts into your comfortable pink Hollister mini shorts, you took out your MacBook and scrolled endlessly, trying to find something for you both to watch.

“Can we watch The Kardashians?”

You asked Sarah, she just nodded a quick yeah and bit into her bagel. You watched the show until it was very late, the sun had set completely, and the only sound throughout the house was the quiet hum of an air conditioner. Sarah was half asleep, you had almost forgotten about the whole thing with his dad already.

It's fine, you were just reading too much into it, he didn't mean anything by it.

You were way too in your thoughts to go to sleep, so you decided that a little midnight swim could do you good. You changed into a tan Burberry bikini and retrieved a white towel from your closet, and made your way to the massive pool. The air felt warm, the night had brought a cold breeze, but the heat of the day still lingered in the air, almost like a memory. The water was warm, it was sitting there day after day in the heat, so it had gathered some of it. You could easily just go all the way in, it felt heavenly-- After having swam a couple of laps you lifted your head out of the pool. You almost drowned when you saw Joel, crouched by the side of the pool, staring at you and smiling.

“Fuck! You scared me!”

You screamed at him. Coughing out some water you had accidentally swallowed when you saw him.

“Sorry... was jus' enjoyin' the view.”

He said, smugly. You decided that if he wanted to play games, you would play along. You splashed him with water so his sweatpants and white tee got soaking wet, and smiled at him-- challenging him.

“Whoa! Kitty's got claws... But you ain't a brave girl.”

“Why's that?”

You asked, swimming closer to him and holding onto the border of the pool, inches from him. The light of the moon reflected on you from the water. The air smelled like smoke, brittlebush, and chlorine.

I probably look fucking ethereal right now.

You thought to yourself, feeling confident, trying your best to give Joel 'fuck me' eyes, something you'd learned while reading one of your grotesque books.

“You know I can't come in that pool, you're hidin' out 'cause you know you shouldn't challenge me.”

If there was ever a time to be courageous, this was it. You lifted yourself out of the pool slowly, Joel observed you with a slight sparkle in his eye. You got out of the pool and slowly walked over to your towel to dry yourself off. Joel laughed a low, hearty laugh.

“I guess I was wrong.”

He said, holding his hands up in defeat.

“So, what are you doing up this late?”

You asked him, party curious, partly trying to relieve the tension.

“Oh, well darlin' if I told you I'd be considered a dirty, bad man. Let's jus' say I couldn't sleep.”

To be continued.

[girlscomehome]

the babysitter: revised

pairing: babysitter!abby x fem!reader cw: NSFW & MDNI… kinda… college!reader, Y/N use imsry, reader is a big family guy lol, not proofread. wc: 1.7k a/n: hiiiiii i was on hiatus for sooo long… so here’s a revised vers of the babysitter bc it makes me cringe and lowk this vers does too and it's a series… :p

“I-I know, Mom! I know! I’ll be home next break, I promise,” you shift the phone from your left cheek to your right, pinching it between your shoulder and ear to keep it steady. “I’m kind of busy right now… I’ll call you later, okay? Sorry!” You hang up quickly, stifling a giggle at her persistence.

She has no idea, you think to yourself, biting back a grin.

You stuff your phone into your back pocket and hurriedly shove an armful of clothes into an old, worn duffel bag. Grabbing a sticky note, you scribble, At parents’ house. Don’t eat my snacks. Love, the best roommate ever, Y/N. Slapping it onto your desk, you speed-walk out of the dorm, already pulling your phone back out to punch in your childhood home address on Google Maps.

Finally. After months, you’re home. You’ll get to see your brother’s chubby little face, and feel the warmth of Mom and Dad’s hugs. You missed this—being small, being here. Even your brother, who still wears those ridiculous Star Wars onesies, feels like a comfort you’ve been craving.

You relax your shoulders as your grip on the steering wheel loosens, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. In quick motions, you grab the spare house keys from the glove compartment, sling your duffel bag over your shoulder, and step out of the car.

As you approach the house, your eyes scan it with a mix of nostalgia and surprise. The pale blue paint has faded, the window sills are cracked, and the roof shingles look… tired. It’s only been a year, you think, your chest tightening. How do Mom and Dad look?

You twist the key in the lock as quietly as possible, ease the door open, and shut it with a soft click.

“Surprise!” you yell, dropping your bag with a thud and throwing your arms wide, expecting Mom and Dad to leap out in shock and joy.

Except… that’s not what happens.

Instead, you’re greeted by a tall, muscular blonde woman who looks like she could bench-press you. Her eyebrows shoot up, her blue eyes narrowing as she stands from the couch with a startlingly intimidating presence.

“Who the fuck are you?” she demands, her tone sharp, her stance defensive. She looks ready to throw hands.

“W-Wait! I’m Y/N!” you stammer, stepping back. Her expression hardens. “Y/N Y/L/N!” you repeat, this time emphasizing your last name like it’s supposed to mean something to her.

Her posture softens just a little. “Oh. Shit. Sorry,” she mutters, brushing a hand through her blonde braid. “I’m Abby. The babysitter. I forgot the Y/L/Ns had another kid.”

You laugh nervously, picking your bag up. “Yeah, I’m the older one. Where’s my brother?”

“Upstairs. Asleep,” she says flatly, gesturing toward the staircase. “I’m just waiting for your parents to get home.”

She turns away, plopping back down on the couch with a casual ease that screams confidence. Her cargo pants cling to her muscular thighs as she spreads her legs, leaning back. You can feel her eyes on you, sharp and assessing.

“What are you staring at?” she smirks, her voice low and amused.

You blink, snapping out of it. “Uh, nothing!” you laugh awkwardly, feeling heat creep up your neck. Without thinking, you sink onto the couch beside her, unable to stop yourself from stealing glances at her. Up close, her skin looks impossibly smooth, her features striking in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Why’ve I never met you before?” you ask, your curiosity slipping out.

“Just moved here,” she replies, her voice husky. Her lips curve into a smirk. “You waiting for me to offer you a drink? From your own house?”

You laugh, relaxing into the cushions. The tension between you is almost tangible, and you’re desperate to break it. But instead of saying something, your body moves on its own.

You lean forward, closing the space between you, and kiss her. It’s clumsy and impulsive, but her hands immediately find your hips, grounding you. She pulls back just enough to laugh softly, her breath brushing against your lips.

“You’re bold,” she murmurs before kissing you again, this time deeper, hungrier.

Abby’s hands trail up your back, her fingers pressing into you just hard enough to make you shiver. She smirks against your lips when she feels you react, her grip shifting to your hips to pull you closer. The kiss deepens, heat pooling in your core as her confidence and control take over.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You know that. But it doesn’t stop you. Her lips are addictive, her scent intoxicating.

When Abby finally pulls away, you’re breathless, your lips tingling. Her gaze locks with yours, her eyes darker now, filled with something that sends a thrill down your spine.

“You’re something else,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky. Her hand brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, lingering against your cheek.

“I could say the same about you,” you reply, your voice softer than you expected.

She laughs lightly, leaning back into the couch, her fingers still resting against your hip. For a moment, the tension between you shifts, softening into something almost comfortable. You study her, the sharp lines of her jaw, the faint freckles across her nose, the way her braid hangs over her shoulder.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Abby asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Like what?” you ask, feeling your face heat up.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit.

Her lips twitch into a smile. “Good luck with that.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway breaks the moment. Abby sits up straight, her head turning toward the window. “Shit,” she mutters under her breath.

“Is that my parents?” you ask, panic bubbling up in your chest.

“Yeah, that’s them.” Abby stands quickly, pulling you up with her. “You need to—uh—go upstairs or something. I don’t think they need to walk in on this.”

You grab your bag and rush toward the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest. Just as you reach the top, you glance back at Abby. She’s standing in the living room, adjusting her braid and smoothing out her cargo pants like nothing happened.

“Hey,” she says, her voice just loud enough for you to hear.

“Yeah?”

“This… isn’t over.” Her smirk returns, and it sends a spark of excitement through you.

You nod, turning away before she can see the blush spreading across your cheeks.

Once upstairs, you tiptoe toward your old room, pushing the door open as quietly as you can. The familiar scent of the space hits you immediately—laundry detergent and the faintest hint of lavender from an old candle on your dresser. You set your bag down, your mind still spinning from everything that just happened.

What were you thinking? What was she thinking? You press your fingers to your lips, still swollen and sensitive from her kisses, and flop onto your bed. Your heart is still racing, and the faint hum of adrenaline lingers in your veins.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and every time you close your eyes, you see her—her sharp blue eyes, her confident smirk, the way her hands felt on your body. You toss and turn, trying to will yourself into calm, but it’s no use.

The next morning, you wake to the sound of voices downstairs. You blink groggily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before realizing one of those voices is Abby’s.

You slip out of bed and creep toward the top of the stairs, peeking down into the kitchen. Abby is standing by the counter, talking with your mom. She looks relaxed, a mug of coffee in her hands, her braid draped over one shoulder.

Your mom laughs at something Abby says, and you feel a strange twist in your stomach. Jealousy? Embarrassment? You’re not sure. But when Abby glances up and catches your eye, her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile, and your cheeks heat up instantly.

Your mom is mid-conversation with Abby, her back to you. Abby’s standing by the counter, a mug of coffee in her hands, her posture casual and confident as always.

You pause, suddenly nervous. Would they even be happy to see you? It had been so long since your last visit.

Before you can second-guess yourself, your mom turns around, and her jaw drops.

“Y/N?!” she exclaims, her voice a mix of shock and delight. She freezes for a moment, as if she can’t believe her eyes, before rushing toward you and pulling you into a tight hug. “What are you doing here? When did you get in?”

Your dad, who was flipping pancakes at the stove, turns around with an equally surprised expression. “Is that—Y/N?! Oh my God, kiddo, it’s really you!” He drops the spatula onto the counter and strides over, joining your mom in the embrace.

“I missed you guys,” you say, your voice muffled against your mom’s shoulder.

“We missed you too!” your mom says, pulling back to look at you, tears glistening in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We could’ve picked you up!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you explain, smiling sheepishly.

“Well, you succeeded!” your dad laughs, ruffling your hair. “This is the best surprise we’ve had in ages.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Abby watching the scene unfold. She’s leaning against the counter, her arms crossed and a bemused smile on her face.

“Oh, wait, Abby!” your mom says suddenly, turning toward her. “You haven’t met Y/N yet, have you?”

Abby shakes her head, her smirk widening slightly. “Nope.”

Your mom doesn’t seem to pick up on the undercurrent in Abby’s tone. “Well, Y/N, this is Abby. She’s been staying with us for the past few weeks, helping out with everything while your dad and I juggle work. She’s amazing.”

“Yeah, she’s been a lifesaver,” your dad adds, smiling at Abby. “We couldn’t have asked for a better helper.”

Abby shrugs modestly. “Just doing my job,” she says, though the glint in her eyes as she looks at you suggests otherwise.

“Well, Abby, you’ve officially met the whole family now,” your mom says, beaming. “And Y/N, you’re just in time for breakfast. Sit down, we’ll make you a plate!”

You glance at Abby as you take a seat at the table, your cheeks heating up under her gaze. She doesn’t say anything, but the way she looks at you feels like a secret—one your parents are blissfully unaware of.